


Effective Communication

by RebelPaisley



Series: Life is Pandemonium [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: Actual slash near the end there, Gen, Hijinks & Shenanigans, Humor, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-11
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:30:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 26,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebelPaisley/pseuds/RebelPaisley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The accordion incident is over, but not forgotten. Puck decides that they need counseling, dragging a very reluctant Mike Chang along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Accordion Debacle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Glee. Not even a little bit.

It was an undisputed fact that dirty secrets were supposed to make you cooler. They were _supposed_ to make you badass.  Like, killing a guy with a pipe wrench made you the dark and mysterious, silent and deadly kind of cool. Seducing and sleeping with older women made you the suave and charming kind of cool. And then there was the lesser cool, drug trafficking secret (lesser cool because even if you _did_ tell someone you would probably have to kill them, and that would get out of hand after awhile).

Maybe that had always just been Puck's interpretation on things, maybe he was just hopeful that the dirty secrets they had in movies should be like the dirty secrets you had in real life, but since he lived in Lima, Ohio, reality tended to put a major damper on things.

See, Puck had this dirty little secret, and it wasn't even _remotely_ cool. Hell, for most people, it wasn't even remotely a secret.

Puck, as it so happened, was a man of the law.

Or he wasn't, not in the way that statement meant it, it was more like he was a man _for_ the law. Ever since he and Finn's failed attempt to knife Vocal Adrenaline's cars and his short stint in Juvie, Puck had kind've…just a little, been upholding the legal system.

To a tee.

He wasn't proud of it, he still pulled pranks (better planned out, but mostly harmless) to throw off the scent, but he couldn't deny it.

He'd become a rule follower. Never thought he'd see the day.

See, he knew _now_ that the only way he could completely be annulled (that was the word his mom used) of his crimes was if he carried out the punishments, or, the price of them when he'd committed one, which left him in a fix. See, technically back in New York he and Mike had, as they say on all those badass cop shows, "disturbed the peace" and their punishment, given to them by an actual lawman, was to seek out counseling.

Now they didn't really need it, he and the Changster were cool, (it didn't have to be said, it just _was_ ), but Puck knew, _knew_ that the nagging voice in the back of his head would _not_ go away until they at least got what could pass off as counseling for appearances sake.

The only question then, was who was going to be their mediator.

No way were they going to a pro, that would cost money, money they didn't need to spend because there weren't actually any problems. That meant they would have to pick one of their fellow glee kids. The problem was that a majority of their friends had a nasty tendency to gossip uncontrollably, and Puck would prefer if this was kept on the down low. The only two who had proven themselves to be safe to confide in were Kurt and Quinn (considering they kept the whole Sam-lived-in-a-motel secret for way longer than Puck would have been able to) and normally in this situation he would pick the girl, because they lived for the whole talking about feelings thing, but Quinn seemed kinda scary since her break up with Finn.

That left Kurt, who would probably be willing to humor them in return for…something. Didn't really matter, Kurt's prices were a lot cheaper than Quinn's were.

So…yeah. All he had to do was call Kurt, explain the situation, threaten to kill him if any of it got out, and then call Mike to get him to show up. Puck wouldn't tell the dancer why, he was already on the fence about telling _one_ person his dirty secret, let alone two.

It was foolproof, and it would totally relieve his guilty conscious.

Ten minutes, tops, and then they would be free to get on with their summer.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Mike had learned the word "debacle" from Rachel Berry. He had heard it before, but never knew the meaning, not that it was a necessity being that most of the people he hung out with didn't know it either and would have believed any definition he told them. He could have said debacle was French for ice cream and they would be using it for months during their Halo-athons, but that wasn't the point. The point _was_ that aside from being really cool sounding (debacle, just saying it was fun) it also fit a lot of the situations New Directions found themselves in.

In plain words, a debacle was a failure, which made this cool sounding phrase a lot less fun to use because who liked failing?

Debacle.

Failure.

Not a fun translation.

So ever since Mike and Puck's accordion _debacle_ back in New York Mike had been a little on edge about spending any time alone with Puckerman. It wasn't like they could _possibly_ have a repeat of those sequence of events, or that he was even afraid Puck would get him back for getting a crowd of strangers to boo at him for supposedly being a neglectful boyfriend, he was just pretty sure there was something about Puck that made him want to break free of his normal silence and stand up for himself.

For most people this was a good thing. Individuality, speaking your mind, these were things that every inspirational television program, public service announcement, and Disney movie had been preaching since _forever_ and as much as Mike liked the idea of it, it wasn't really his style.  He _liked_ not stressing; it didn't bother him that he didn't voice his opinions. The only thing he really wanted was a moderate amount of respect, just…acknowledgement of his existence and he was cool.

And alone time with Puck just- it brought out the worst in him, so he'd been avoiding it.

That was why when the jock finally called him and said they had to meet up at Kurt's ASAP, the only reason Mike agreed to show up was because he knew Hummel was going to be there to run interference, and possibly Finn too. Mike didn't know _what_ was so important; he simply thought whatever dilemma Puck was facing would be mildly entertaining if anything.

He really should have known better.

It started off rocky and got gradually worse.

"Gentlemen," Kurt started, clipboard in hand (Mike had been trying to catch a peek at what was on it to no avail), after he had situated Mike and Puck _just_ so, sitting side-by-side on the edge of his bed. He paced in front of them slowly, looking at them with a calm expression that somehow managed to give Mike the heebie-jeebies.

Kurt continued, pausing to tap his pencil against the side of his clipboard, "I am so glad you came to me with your problems, I assure you everything you tell me will be kept in confidence."

Mike's mind had ground to a halt at _"your problems"_ , so it was Puck who picked up the conversation beside him. "I already told you this is strictly for appearances sake. Me and Chang are fine."

Kurt smiled in response.

"I'm sure you are," he chirped, amused by Puck's comment.  "But just to be thorough why don't you tell me what this is all about?"

_Me too,_ Mike thought, mind still racing for an answer. His best option right now was to wait for Puck to explain _what the **hell** was going on._

"Well," Puck began, running a hand through the top of his Mohawk casually.  "Mike and I were kinda on a mission back in New York.  We had to hit the streets, doesn't matter why, and near the end of it Mike had an identity crises and caused a public disturbance and the cop said he'd let us go if we agreed to get counseling.  So, here we are."

During the course of his explanation Kurt's eyebrows seemed to slowly rise to the top of his head. All the while the blood gradually drained from Mike's face.

_That_ was what this was about? The stupid, _he's_ stupid…

The aggravation from that night began to creep back up on him, and Mike took a few deep breaths before he could say something he would regret because he did _not_ have an identity crisis, he had had a crisis of respect which was completely different and he thought Puck had figured that out by now. Whatever, he just needed to end _this_ stupidity before that mess could be dragged back up.

“The only reason," Mike began, trying to keep his tone as calm and relaxed as normal. "He said that was because he thought we were a couple Puck."

Mike ignored Kurt's look of intrigue and kept his focus on Puck, who, as pure usual, was unbothered. Of _course_ he wasn't bothered. **_Nothing_** bothered Puck, he was Puckzilla, Puck the man, the stud, the-

Mike's urge to strangle was slowly returning.

"Laws the law dude," the jock shrugged, oblivious to the burning fury he was reigniting. "I'm just trying to follow it."

Kurt was beginning to pick up the hints of rage that were emanating from Mike's being but decided, _unwisely_ , to push on with this farce of a therapy session.

"What exactly happened during this meltdown, per say?"

Puck was only too happy to fill him in.

"Well first he started threatening to kill me, which was not cool by the way," he interjected offhandedly, glancing Mike's way before he continued, "and then after that he started yelling about how I couldn't push him around and that he wouldn't be ignored and a bunch of other girly stuff like that."

As Puck put to words his take on things Mike couldn't decide whether to hide from the humiliation of it all or give into his urges and initiate an all out attack. He settled for lowering his face into his hands while he decided which would be the more viable choice. In retrospect, the story was more embarrassing than liberating.

Kurt cleared his throat awkwardly, clearly confused from the lack of background information but attempting to hide it.

"So…" he began, finally stilling his pen.  "You were ignoring him, I assume?"

"That's just the thing," Puck replied, and he didn't bother to hide any of _his_ confusion or assumed innocence. "We had just spent like, two hours together.  How could I ignore him? I was with him the whole time!"

He didn't bother thinking about the implications of his statements and Mike briefly wondered why Puck picked _Kurt_ of all people to be their mediator.

"I even bought him ice cream!" Puck finished his defense, and Mike snapped his head up, taking a moment to glare at the guy beside him because while he _had_ done the actual buying Mike had still been the one to give him the money.

"Badly," the dancer elaborated, and Kurt hummed beside them, muttering under his breath _"bought ice cream badly"_ as he wrote it down _,_ while Puck just stared at him in confusion.

Mike broke the staring contest first, because the ice cream hadn't been important, he honestly could have cared less about it. He was about to explain that he had just been very stressed at the time and that this was all just a big misunderstanding when Puck opened his big, fat, _stupid_ mouth and drastically altered the course of their summer vacation.

"You're such a girl, Mike," he sighed under his breath, like he was the injured party, and once again Mike found himself trembling in a fit of rage he could not fully describe with words. Puck must have recognized his decent into animosity because his eyes widened, but instead of defending himself like a _smart_ human being he turned to the only witness to the would-be murder.

"That's the look he got before it all started," he explained, and Kurt nodded in approval and continued jotting down notes, mentally capturing the _look._

To keep himself from injuring an innocent bystander Mike settled for only letting out a brief gargle of rage as he scrubbed angrily at his face in a futile attempt to make himself forget the past ten minutes before he bolted out the door, down the stairs, and completely out of the house, possibly freaking out Finn's mom when he passed by the living room. He wasn't totally positive; he was only seeing red at the time. When Mike got outside he realized that Puck had been the one to drive them there, probably to make sure he wouldn't be able to escape, so he flipped the other teen’s truck twin birds before taking off down the street.  He had two capable legs damn it, he would walk home.

Three blocks later Finn caught up to him in his truck and drove Mike home, eyeing him with the same trepidation usually reserved for Coach Sylvester during her pre-Glee friendly days. They didn't speak a word the entire time.

Mike would call Kurt later to apologize (it wasn't his fault he was dragged into this, it was Puck's) and then he would promptly spend the rest of his summer avoiding his mohawked _friend_ until he decided to be a pal and forget their accordion debacle entirely. And of course if that didn't work, he could always just keep, you know, not talking.

He was pretty much a champion of that.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Their second counseling session produced slightly better results than the first, though like the previous one, Mike had been tricked into showing up to it. He should have assumed that once Kurt caught whiff of two guys with _any_ kind of relationship issues ( _friend_ relationship, Mike could not emphasize that enough in his mind) that he would not release his talons from it until he was either dead or a resolution had been reached. The Broadway-versed teen had sucked Finn into this as well, enlisting his help to lure Mike back into his dungeon of despair. The Quarterback had called Mike one Tuesday night of no particular significance and demanded that he show up at his house, his story being that Sam and Brittany were challenging his mastery of DDR and that he needed to defend his title.

Mike was there three minutes and seven traffic violations later, only to find neither of the accused blonds nor the video game in question. Instead, the moment he walked through the door he was literally attacked and dragged up the stairs, by Finn as fate would have it, and then bodily shoved into Kurt's room with no particular finesse. By the time he pulled himself off the ground the door had been blocked by Blaine, and when Mike turned to ask Kurt what the hell he was doing there he was surprised to find that Puck was thankfully absent.

A small blessing.

While he was mentally celebrating this Kurt answered his unspoken question, "I decided it would be wise to bring backup this time."

Mike nodded briefly in response and then considered the repercussions of knocking Blaine out of the way and making a break for it. Sure, Kurt would be mad at him for a while, and odds were Finn was still prowling around downstairs, but he had to try didn't he?

_Window,_ Mike thought, eyeing it to see if it was one of those kinds that opened fully or if it was one of the ones that just mocked you. It was the second floor; he could make the jump no problem.

As though reading his mind Kurt moved to block his secondary exit with a worried look on his face and, of course, his pink clip board in hand.

Because what was a therapist without a clipboard?

Kurt cleared his throat to recapture Mike's wandering attention and began to address him the same way he would an injured stray dog, trying to be calming and helpful without getting the snot bitten out of him.

"Last time we let Puck do most of the talking."

_Let_ , like Mike had had a choice the first time. He never _let_ Puck talk it just freakin’ _happened_.

Kurt continued, "So I thought that maybe we should hear _your_ take on things."

"You don't believe him, do you?"

The words were out of Mike's mouth before he could really think about it, mind still focused on the _stupid_ that was Puck.  "Because he is _not_ innocent."

" _Mm-hm_ , _mm-hm_ , go on" Kurt interjected quietly, pen racing across the page.

Mike began pacing back and forth, agitation growing.

"I mean, _I_ didn't mean to get that mad, he's just so…" Mike paused, running his hands through his hair wildly, trying to find the right word.

" _Stupid,"_ he settled on, and continued his pacing.

"I'm not even asking for a much, I mean," he halted again, this time turning to Blaine. "A little respect's not a lot to ask for is it?"

Kurt's boyfriend wisely shook his head _"no"_ and Mike was back off on his tangent, speed gradually increasing.

"And I shouldn't…I mean, he should just…he says he's my bro so shouldn't there be a little respect? Just a little? Why do I have to ask for it, it should just be there!" Mike’s voice was rising and he _was_ beginning to sound like a chick but he couldn't help it.

Sam was cool with him and they'd barely known each other a year.

"I thought he treated everybody like that," Blaine broke in, clearly addressing Kurt (he must have heard about stories of old Puck because…) and Mike halted abruptly and stared at him in amazement, because Puck _used_ to, with getting Quinn knocked up and treating girls like crap and throwing pee balloons at people, but _now_ he was all trying to convince Rachel not to get a nose job and being all lovey on _Zizes_ for her personality, and trying to get Sam to come clean about his _supposed_ cheating and backing up Artie and Finn when they tried to woo a girl. He was treating all of them better but he was _still_ treating Mike with the same amount of disregard as he used to and _how the hell_ had Mike _not_ noticed that sooner?

"Are you okay?" Blaine asked when Mike continued to stare into the distance as all this flashed through his brain, and even Kurt moved from his guard position so he could get a glimpse of his face.

"He doesn't," Mike whispered, and then he began to laugh quietly, causing Kurt and Blaine to share a look that would best be described as _"oh no we broke him"_ but Mike couldn't be bothered with their troubles because he was on a roll now.

"Why should I be special?" he proclaimed, smiling even though he was feeling far from happy. "I'm just the background guy! He's only known me _forever_!"

He stared back and forth between them wildly.

"I don't talk so I must have no soul right?" he asked, shouting at the ceiling, and later he would feel bad for this because he hadn't spent that much time with Blaine and was currently making a terrible impression on him. "And if you don't have a soul you don't have feelings right? Right?"

As he finished his ranting and collapsed onto the edge of the bed, weighed down with a modicum of despair.

There was a good chance it could have ended right then. Kurt and Blaine could have talked to Mike and assured him that he was fine, that he had a soul, and that Puck wasn't doing it on purpose and then everything could have ended and they would have all been cool.

But fate was of a differing opinion.

For behind the door, probably but a few steps down the hall came a voice, talking to Finn, and Mike didn't have to be able to see it to know who it was because the words were a dead giveaway.

"I see he's still acting like a chick," Puck joked, and Mike launched himself at the door, shoving Kurt and Blaine aside and whipping it open to reveal a surprised Finn and-

It didn't matter what Puck looked like because Mike was too busy trying to strangle him into unconsciousness.

Unfortunately Finn pulled him off before he could achieve his goal, and Kurt suggested that they finish their session another time.

Another time, right. Like Mike was going to show up to this house again.

He didn't bother looking behind him when he walked away.


	2. The Erroneous Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck refuses to accept any of the blame, causing many headaches for everyone else involved.

Kurt was the first one to break the silence after Mike stormed his way out of the house, addressing Blaine as Finn helped Puck from his well deserved position on the ground.

"I'm sensing a recurring theme here."

Blaine nodded, absently rubbing the arm Mike had shoved as he stared at the top of the staircase with an expression of slight fear. It was unfortunate that this was his first up close and personal meeting with Mike, considering the circumstances Kurt probably should have foreseen possible mental scarring, given how prone New Directions was to drama.

That would appear to include the less vocal members as well.

It figured, without the day-to-day pattern of school to interfere with their lives Kurt had assumed his summer would fall into three lack-luster months of Blaine, music, and relaxation. No school, no drama, no fighting, no secrets, no backstabbing, breakups, make ups, or overreactions. It would just be a vacation.

He might as well have instigated this whole mess himself with those kinds of wishful thoughts.

Puck coughed awkwardly, rubbing at his throat, and gave a nod indicating he agreed with Kurt’s statement.

"Yeah," he hacked out, "that he acts like a-"

Kurt cut him off before the jock could overuse his favorite derogative description of Mike, opting to lightly belittle him instead of snapping.

"You don't learn, do you?"

Beside him Blaine rolled his eyes, but Puck frowned, clearly offended.

"I'm not the one who's tripping," he exclaimed, glancing briefly at Finn for backup and rubbing a hand against his throat again with a cringe. "He tried to strangle me in New York too."

Though Kurt had yet to determine the reason for this, and to be honest it had been slowly killing him inside for no matter how much he probed, or Blaine probed, or even _Finn_ probed (in his awkward attempt at subtlety), Puck refused to divulge further details. Kurt had been hoping Mike could shed some light on the situation, stupidly presuming that the previous storm-out had been an isolated incident and that today's session would be pretty much open and shut.

Yeah, not the case.

Kurt hid his disappointment and took out some of his frustration with a sarcastic quip, staring blankly at Puck while reaching out to pat Blaine's shoulder, who was still throwing the staircase periodic glances.

"I wonder why."

Puck appeared to appreciate this second comment even less than its predecessor, perhaps because he was finally becoming aware of his role in both of Mike's emotional outbursts (though the odds of that were unlikely) and he took his hand away from his throat so he could glare at Kurt properly.

"You saying this is my fault?" he asked, hands against his sides in a casually threatening manner, but Kurt didn't back down.

Thankfully Finn stepped in, attempting to be a voice of reason.

"There's obviously something going on here dude," he said while still trying to be a good friend by reaching out an arm in support. "Mike wouldn't just-"

But Puck wouldn't have it and pushed the other teen’s hand away before it could make contact. "He _did_.  Like, three times!"

By this point he realized that none of them were really on his side, _at all_ , and he took a moment to fume about it.

Blaine, now confidant Mike would not return, joined the conversation, disbelief etched into his face. "To _you._ "

Because clearly, had anyone else provoked Mike to the point of strangling they _might_ have recognized just a _tiny_ bit of responsibility for rendering him in that state and attempted to resolve the problem. Only that wasn't how Puck's mind worked, not even slightly, and for a moment Kurt believed that the thoughtful look that crossed the jock's face was a good thing. That was, until words came out of his mouth and the illusion was shattered.

"Maybe not," Puck muttered, almost to himself, and Kurt could just tell that the gears turning in his mind were not going to lead to anything good.

For the first time that evening Kurt allowed himself to show some of his aggravation, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he gave a sigh, just foretelling the chaos that was going to come of this.

Stroke of genius worked out, Puck turned to Finn, plan in mind. "We need to talk to Tina, she'd know right?"

_No, she won't, because Mike's not crazy._

This time Blaine was the one to voice their concerns, now that Kurt had become too tired, and he tried to pull Puck back into reality.

"I think you might be missing the point here."

Puck waved at him absently, already a lost cause.

"No, I think _you_ might be missing the point," he lectured, the epitome of machismo. "What if Mike goes all psycho on her all the time, only she's too embarrassed to say anything."

And he honestly believed himself when he said this.

"Finn," Puck called, begging for his friend's support.  "We've got to save her."

Blaine didn't bother hiding his laugh, and Kurt felt a little better about temporarily traumatizing him. "You are so wrong it's not even funny."

It didn't even faze Puck; his focus was all on his on-again, off-again best friend. Finn was still on their side, though it looked like he was about to give into the darkness, if only to make sure things didn't get out of hand.

Finn tried again anyway, "I think they might have a point-"

Puck cut him off with a hand, and began to walk away, taking the stairs two at a time. "Fine man, if you're not up for rescuing damsels I'll do it myself."

The three remaining sane people hurried to the top of the staircase, and Blaine was the first one to catch his breath, casting aside all gentleness and cutting to the heart of the issue.

"He's only mad at you!"

Puck halted on the stairs briefly, turning just long enough to declare, "No he's not."

Blaine and Kurt were completely in sync when they yelled back, "Yes he is!"

Though they might as well not have bothered because he was already gone.

Beside them Finn sighed, gave them a hopeless look, and went after him.  Kurt nodded in approval.  As entertaining as it was to have one Chang mad at Puckerman they sure as hell did not need to unleash the wrath of a second.

Blaine patted his arm as they stared at the empty staircase. "You have interesting friends."

Kurt sighed and rubbed at his eyes again; mind traveling back to the broken clipboard discarded on the floor by his bedroom door, foreshadowing the _badness_ that was to come.

"This will not end well."

-:-:-:-:-:-

Apparently by "talk to Tina", Puck had meant "interrogate", and _apparently_ "interrogating" was so very important that they had to rush over to Tina's immediately, not calling ahead (because Puck didn't want her to be prepared, even though that would have been important because she might not be home, or she might have company, or _Mike_ could be there) and breaking most of the driving laws and _all_ of the speed limits that stood in their way. It was like one of those actions movies, Finn mused as he watched Puck reposition some of Tina's furniture into "proper interrogation formation", only in those movies they never got pulled over because it was in the script, and they only shot for like, ten seconds at a time anyway.

Yeah, Finn would much rather be watching one of those movies right now rather than participating in one.

He was beginning to see how Puck could piss Mike off so easily.

Across the room Tina sent the unoccupied jock an amused look, allowing Puck to continue his work for what Finn guessed was entertainment purposes. To be honest Finn was surprised they were allowed in the house at all, once someone had answered the door Puck had declared that Tina was a _"Person of interest, vital to their investigation"_ and then pretty much barged his way in past her mother. Finn spent several minutes apologizing before Tina came in and diffused the situation (who thankfully _was_ home and _without_ Mike).

Even after their close call at the door Puck hadn't toned down his "investigation" at all, he had just started prepping the room once Tina showed them to it. All things considered she was taking this rather well, though a majority of that had to be because _'crazy things that were never given an explanation'_ were kind of Puck's specialty, and you came to expect this sort of thing from him.

"Okay," Puck panted, pointing to the chair he had situated in the middle of the room.  "Sit."

This was addressed to Tina, who gave him a cheeky smile before flouncing over to the indicated seat, happily complying. Puck rolled his eyes at her (probably for not taking this seriously enough, whatever _this_ was) and switched off the light. They stood/sat in darkness while Puck negotiated the room, stumbling over random shoes and whatever else girls kept on the ground before he finally reached Tina's lamp, positioned to shine brightly into her face, completing the mood he was going for.

As crazy as this was, Finn had to appreciate Puck’s attention to detail.

"So," Tina began, swinging her feet playfully.  "What's this about?"

The question was mostly directed at Finn, but she kept her eyes glued on Puck so he would feel included. They wouldn't want him to feel left out of his own party, after all.

True to every cop movie he had ever seen Puck refused to take any nonsense (nonsense in this case being talking), and he pointed a threatening finger at their interogee.

"I'm the one asking the questions," he snapped, squinting his eyes in a manner that Finn supposed _could_ have been intimidating were they interviewing a three year old.

"Now," Puck continued, after he had squinted for a sufficient period of time. "How long has Chang been crazy?"

The question hung in the room awkwardly for a couple seconds, Puck refusing to let up on his stare down while Tina's face revealed the same confusion Finn was balling up on the inside. She turned to him when she realized Puck wasn't going to elaborate.

"Did you let him chug a case of Mountain Dew again?" she asked, cocking her head in Puck's direction, and Finn couldn't help but shudder at the memory of the last and _only_ time (if he had anything to say about it) that had happened.

It had taken Finn weeks before he could look at eggs the same way again.

The non-interrogator shook his head and refocused on the present. 

"No," Finn sighed, "he's just in denial."

As Tina's look turned to one of interest Puck continued on, ignoring Finn’s comment.

"Tina," the mohawked-teen began, bad cop exterior falling away, and he kneeled down next to her, going for more of a talk show host, Oprah kind of feel.  "We're totally here for you."

He reached out and squeezed her arm in support, taking a deep breath before he continued, "If Mike's been going Hulk on you in private, you don't have to hide it anymore."

Finn felt his face light up in the embarrassment Puck _should_ be feeling, and Tina sent him a more obvious, desperate look, practically screaming _"Seriously, what the hell?”._

Finn would have given just about anything to go back in time to earlier this evening and just tell Kurt "no", instead of agreeing to help him. It might have been better for the sake of the group if he had.

Tina wasn't letting up, and like Kurt, wasn't going to let this go, not if it concerned Mike, so Finn sighed in resignation, rubbing the side of his head wearily.

"Puck offended Mike's honor."

He was pretty sure there was a whole lot more to it than that but Puck wasn't saying anything useful and Mike wasn't saying anything _period_. Except that he didn't have a soul, which Finn had found really confusing.

He would have to talk to Rachel about that later.

Tina's mood immediately changed, indicating that playtime was over, and now it was overprotective girlfriend's turn to take the plate.

"What did you do to my Chang-Chang?" She asked, voice low and more threatening than it should be from a person so small.

Puck shook his head in dismissal, still under the belief that Mike _couldn't_ just be mad at him. "This isn't about me."

Finn shrugged, gesturing to Puck in a _"this is what I've been dealing with"_ fashion. "He refuses to talk about it."

The mohawked teen scoffed, glancing at him long enough to object to his accusations. "Because I didn't _do_ anything."

Broken record, playing over and over again. The guy had said that phrase so many times on the way over Finn was beginning to think it was a new form of meditation or something. Not that Puck was the kind of guy who would meditate. If he did, stuff like this probably wouldn't happen _nearly_ so often. Still, there was one thing bothering him.

"Mike hasn't told you about this?" Finn asked Tina, confused.

He knew Mike wasn't that big a talker to _them_ , but Finn figured that with Tina being his girlfriend …

Apparently that was not the right thing to say _at all_ , because if the look on Tina's face meant what Finn thought it meant (and it did because his two past girlfriend's had made him _very_ familiar with it) then Mike was going to be thrown very deep into the doghouse. Finn winced at the sight and mentally apologized.

Puck, still trying to defend his honor, saw his opening to win sympathy and turned to Tina beseechingly. " _He_ tried to strangle _me._ "

And…not good. Not good at all. Finn had a feeling things were gong to go downhill from here pretty fast.

"He _what?!"_ Tina exclaimed, her small anger at Mike transforming into a special kind of new rage at Puck because the overprotection was coming back full force, and Finn knew that he was going to end up pulling a second Chang intent on serious injury off of Puck today.

Puck, as per usual, misjudged her reaction, thinking he had actually succeeded.

"See, she agrees," he drawled, lazy smile crossing his face as though victory was his.  "Mike’s crazy."

The quarterback retreated back a step, slowly edging towards Puck, making sure not to make any sudden movements as he attempted to warn his friend, "Dude…"

Tina had become rigid, tense with…Finn didn't even want to know, he just wanted to grab Puck and get out of here because girls could be scary and-

"What," She ground out, voice barely controlled, and she took a slow, menacing step forward, hands outreached towards her prey, "did you do?"

Finn didn't have a chance to warn him.

"I didn't-" Puck began, intent on proving his innocence, and Tina lost it, throwing herself forward and latching onto his sweatshirt. In a way, it eerily reminded Finn of Mike.

Puck did not appreciate the sudden change in decorum. He tried to pry Tina’s arms off of him and soon they were moving around the room in a spastic kind of voodoo dance that Finn really should be trying a little harder to break up but he kept hoping, despite knowing better, that maybe Tina could succeed where they all had failed.

"She's crazy too man!" Puck yelled, managing to push one of her arms off of him only to have her change her tactics and go for his back, jumping on him, causing him to let out this strange gurgle. "Get her off me!"

"What did you do?" She yelled again, clawing at Puck’s face, and soon they were making enough of a ruckus that Finn was surprised the rest of the house hadn't come to see what the commotion was about. Puck staggered around the room, knocking over his interrogation chair as he tried and epically _failed_ to pry the antagonized lady goth off of his back.

"Abort mission!" Puck yelled, spinning around madly only to cause his attacker to tighten her grip. "Abort! Abort!"

Finn was torn, he really was. He _should_ be trying to help Puck, or at least look like he was trying to help his friend, or something, but he didn't want to make Tina mad at both of them, and he really had no idea what was going on. Meanwhile, the sounds of crashing and breaking and strangling continued, and Finn gave up and pulled out his phone, starting his video in time just to get Tina shouting, _"Tell me!"_ into Puck's ear, and Finn figured that at least they would get a really great YouTube video out of this mess.

"You're crazy!" Puck spat out, finally losing his balance, and the two wrestling teens fell onto the bed sideways with a loud _omf_.

And…

Puck and Tina…

…on the bed

That was a combination Finn should probably put a stop to.

The quarterback pulled his phone down long enough to reevaluate the situation, trying to convince Tina that this looked all kinds of things that weren't good, but she didn't seem to have the time for it. In Puck's defense, he was doing his best to get away from her without actually doing any damage, trying to block his face from Tina's enraged slaps.

"Get off!"

It was totally déjà vu, or maybe it was just how all angry Asians tried to express their…anger, but like Mike, Tina was going for the throat, attempting to succeed where her boyfriend had failed. Finn gave up being a neutral party and intervened, pulling her off before either one of them could get hurt. When her mother finally got to the door to see what the commotion was she found a flailing Tina in the arms of the tall quarterback, a few toppled pieces of furniture, a broken lamp, and a certain half-strangled, stupid-but-loveable mohawked jock gasping for breath on her bed.

It came as no great surprise when she asked them to leave and never come back, though Finn hoped that once Tina calmed down she would clear up that they were merely trying to ask some questions and _not_ , he repeated, _not_ attempting to kidnap/torture/legitimately interrogate her.

As they walked away, Puck still sulking and trying to figure out another lead for this conspiracy he was creating in his head, Finn couldn't shake the feeling that this, whatever _this_ was, was far from over. And whenever it finally _got_ to over, it would not end well.

That, he could almost guarantee.


	3. The Unanticipated Rally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike decides to recruit some backup of his own and Finn kind’ve misses the point. What a shocker.

There had been rumblings along the New Direction's social network, murmurs really, of something (specifics weren't given) and Sam wouldn't have even noticed _those_ if Artie hadn't shown him that video of Tina going ballistic on Puckerman's throat. Okay, so they weren't really murmurs at all, they were more like misdirected, incomprehensible shouts pouring themselves into a cavern, loud and blaring and echoing off so many surfaces that it was impossible to understand what was being said. The meaning however, was not lost. At least, not to Sam.

Something big was going down, probably instigated by Puck, and odds were none of them were going to be able to escape being dragged into another struggle of whatever he felt like being stupid about. That didn't mean that Sam was going to _willingly_ stick his neck into what by all means was probably nothing. No sir, he had learned. He knew if he just waited, it would come to him. It was an inescapable, undeniable fact.

Sooner or later the mess would find its way to his doorstep and then, and _only_ then, would Sam begin to bother himself with it.

There were many possible ways for this to go down; the most obvious (from what he had seen) would be for Puck to call him and request his backup to do something completely off-the-wall but _just_ awesome enough that Sam _had_ to participate. This wouldn't be the first time, and it most definitely wouldn't be the last.

What can he say; he was a thrill seeker at heart.

The second hook for the blond’s involvement could come via Mercedes, assuming that she and Tina gossiped as much as he thought they did, the Goth would tell her, and then _she_ would tell _him_ , and somehow, someway, he would end up on team Tina. No offense to Puck, but unlike Sam's past two girlfriends his relationship with Mercedes might actually lead to somewhere that _might_ resemble happiness and _not_ to soul-crushing, unjustified despair brought on by betrayal. He was not going to mess up his chances just because he was supposed to follow the bro code.

Not this time.

The third option, which Sam highly doubted but still kept on the table because he liked to pretend he was a good boy scout, was that Finn would call him in to bring an end to this madness (being that the self-proclaimed leader of the Glee club had filmed what was slowly becoming one of YouTube’s many one-shot wonders, he _had_ to have some kind of inside knowledge).

Sam was doubtful this would happen though, because:

A) Finn still kinda owed Sam from the Bella Note thing, and the blond was willing to cash that in so he could avoid being involved with this.

B) Why would Finn turn to him when Sam could bond over this with his newly-reclaimed girlfriend?

C) Sam was homeless, so it could easily be said that he had "bigger problems" to deal with.

These were the three ways Sam had foreseen him getting sucked in.

What he had _not_ foreseen, not even in the back of his mind as an amusing possibility, was that _Mike_ , of all people, would be the one to pull him under.

In the long run, Sam wasn't sure how he felt about this fact, though he did bring a fraction of this upon himself.

It had been a surprise, finding Mike pacing frantically back and forth in the motel parking lot (which should have been a big indicator that something was drastically wrong because most people avoided being alone at night in a not-so-good part of town) clearly arguing with himself over…something. Later Sam would realize that Mike had actually attempted to be considerate and really _hadn't_ wanted to bother him with any problems, but with just one look at the dancer Sam could tell that some form of unloading needed to be done before the timer on Mike's coping abilities timed out and there was an explosion the dancer wouldn’t recover from.

The blond approached his friend cautiously, slowly edging into his line of vision so he wouldn't startle him, though he might as well not have bothered because Mike jumped anyway, hands posed for a karate chop (not that the teen was educated in martial arts, he just liked to take advantage of stereotypes). Surprise turned to confusion, which turned to…depression, maybe?

Or anger, or frustration, or…

_Uh_ , Sam had just come outside for some fresh air, that was _all_ he had wanted. Apparently, that was just too much to ask for.

Whatever hesitations Mike might have entertained vanished as soon as it became obvious that Sam wasn't going to turn tail and run, and while it _would_ have been nice to be given a short play-by-play of what the hell was going on Sam supposed he would just have to deal with being thrown in head first without any details.

"Zizes," Mike exclaimed, grabbing a hold of the front of Sam's shirt as though he was holding on for dear life, desperation mixed with a new sort of agitated frustration that Sam had never seen on the dancing Asian before. Were he any less of a man he would have slightly feared for his life.

While his mind was busy evaluating the situation, Mike had continued talking, voice wavering.  "We have to interrogate Zizes."

Sam ran through a few precious seconds blinking at the other teen stupidly before he fully comprehended what he had said.

Wasted seconds, as all he could think of to say in response was, "Wha-"

But that was enough to get the crazed teen started again, pacing back and forth once more with renewed vigor. "Puck interrogated Tina."

An interrogation that obviously went south if the video was any indication.

Mike paused and gave the blond a serious look, pointing at him in a matter-of-fact manner. "Finn's words, not mine."

Once Sam nodded in response Mike was off again, explaining what the blond was beginning to think was completely unexplainable.

"And now Tina's mad at him," which wasn't too terribly surprising. "But she's also mad at _me_ ," which _was_ incredibly surprising. "And now she won't talk to me _at all,_ " there was a hint of sadness there and Sam began to understand the angry/depression cocktail of emotions that was going on here. "And I can only assume that Puck has not only said something remarkably stupid," Mike ranted, waving his arms to enthusiastically emphasize this point. "But also something that is _entirely_ untrue, but Tina won't talk to me so I can't fix it."

There was a semblance of order that was starting to manifest itself here, Sam just knew it, he was only missing a few key pieces. His biggest question was what any of this had to do with Zizes, but Sam chose to be more subtle and ask question that would have seemed perfectly reasonable to normal Mike, just to test the waters to see how badly Puck had messed things up here.

The blond cleared his throat casually, attempting to look as though this was just another normal conversation that did _not_ have the possibility of sending Mike off into a rage of fury.

"Why don't you just ask Finn?"

That earned him a glare, and the other running champion for best abs gave Sam what could only be described as the "evil eye", opening his mouth slightly before immediately shutting it, giving Sam the feeling that whatever Mike's beef was, it probably involved the quarterback as well.

"Look," Mike ground out after spending several seconds trying to reach his happy place. "Puck's nuts," he explained, running a hand across his face as though the very mention of the other's name would rain doom upon them all. "I don't know _why_ he went after Tina, or what he said," he lowered his voice slightly, reaching an eerie kind of calm that did nothing to settle Sam's nerves. "I only know that _this,_ is war."

The dancer closed his eyes, taking in another steady breath and Sam almost turned and ran right there. He probably would have made it back to the room and gotten the door locked before Mike could reach him…but that wasn't something he really wanted to take a chance on.

The other jock wasn't done though, not by any means, and he reached out and grabbed a hold of Sam's shoulder, leveling with him, mano y mano.

"I've put a lot of thought into this," he explained, and Sam could tell by the small tremors that quaked through his hand that the statement wasn't a lie. "And the only way to deal with Puck's…" Mike trailed off, searching for just the right word. "Stupid-craziness," he settled on. "Is to throw it right back at him."

Mike sighed again, giving off the air of a truly desperate man. "Then, _maybe_ that will confuse him enough so that he'll stop and maybe, as an added bonus, I'll figure out how to put him in the doghouse with Zizes."

The lanky teen stared at Sam, eyes wide and completely serious, making the blond depressingly aware that _no one_ was outside the reach of New Directions tendency for crazed overreactions.

_One day,_ Sam thought, nodding blankly at Mike in an attempt to show support for what he did not completely understand, _One day this will be me._

"To Zizes!" Mike yelled, pointing off into the distance, and he tightened his hold on Sam's arm, hauling him off on a quest that was assuredly doomed to fail.

"To Zizes," Sam murmured, throwing a wishful glance over his shoulder back to his family's motel room as he sped off into the night. Sure, it was a little cramped, but it was still a nice safe haven from things like this.

_Then again,_ Sam thought, picking up his speed so that Mike wasn't _quite_ pulling his arm out of its socket, _you've got to appreciate the little things._

One day this would be him. And when that day came it would be nice to remind Mike how easily Sam had come along.

He smiled at the thought, imagining how frustrated Mike would be.

It was the little things.

-:-:-:-:-:-

The cell phone hadn't moved from where Finn had tossed it carelessly earlier. It just rested on his bed without a care in the world, silent, except for the occasional text message, and all in all was generally unbothered by the trials and tribulations that came from leading a group of individuals that had the strangest need to try and kill one another.

Finn couldn't help but envy the device as he stared at it with great anticipation, weighing his options and all the results that could come from them. He really wanted to help, like, a lot, but so far he had done a wonderful job of doing exactly everything that _wasn't_ that.

He had thought going along with Kurt's plan would help, but that only made things worse, and _then_ he thought that if he kept an eye on Puck he could help, except he got distracted and confused (which was one of his bigger weaknesses, he could admit) and then he opened his mouth and now Tina was mad, and her mom was mad, and Mike was probably mad at him now too, and somehow things were just bad.

Finn wasn't sure what to do anymore. So far stepping in just moved everything to an even greater level of unpleasantness, and he was getting the sinking feeling that this disease/counseling/guy fight was going to slowly spread throughout the entire glee club, and then they would have to spend another year working through _this_ drama when they should be focusing on maybe winning something so they wouldn't have to deal with getting slushie facials every morning.

Kurt had already scolded him (with Blaine frowning in a disappointed way just over his shoulder) after Finn had explained what had gone down at Tina's, and Kurt had immediately forbidden Finn from talking to Puck or either of the Asian's, saying that he "lacked the finesse" to fix everything. So now Kurt was mad at him too, and Puck was mad at him for not pulling Tina off, and Mike was _going_ to be mad at him, and Tina's mom hadn't looked to happy, and all this like, negative energy was giving Finn a big headache that couldn't _do_ anything about.

And then he got the idea.

Because while he might "lack the finesse" to do this, he had a girlfriend who handled controversy and anger as easily as she could handle a microphone. If anyone could get to the bottom of things it was Rachel, and she was just stubborn enough and determined enough that she wouldn't stop until Mike and Puck were singing love songs to each other or something.

…if she got them to do that, he totally needed to get it on tape.

"Lady Goth Freak Out" was looking awful lonely on his YouTube channel.

Besides, there was something that Mike had said was really starting to bother Finn, so even Rachel didn't fix _them,_ maybe she could work it out for Finn so it could all start to make sense.

Mind made up, Finn snatched up his cell phone, hitting speed dial three while he flopped back onto his bed. As expected, Rachel picked up after two rings (she always seemed to have her phone nearby, even though he was pretty sure not too many people called her).

_"Finn?"_

"Yeah," he breathed, smile spreading across his face. He must have caught her at a good time because she didn't sound grumpy like she did if he interrupted her singing or filming or exercising, and he didn't bother fighting the mushy feeling he had on the inside whenever he heard her say his name.

He had finally gotten her back; he wasn't going to waste his time pretending to be cool.

_"Finn?"_ Rachel’s voice echoed again, and he realized he must have dazed off and he shook his head, getting back into leader-mode.

Now was not the time.

"Listen Rach, I think we might have a problem," he began. "New Directions, I mean," he clarified, because he didn't want to worry her.  "Not us."

He listened vaguely as she starting listing off possible problems, and he nodded along, silently thinking about the best way to put this. He started with what was bothering him the most.

"Hey," he interrupted as soon as he found a lull. "Mike uh…Mike doesn't think he has a soul," he started, wincing at how weird it sounded.  "Do you…that's a problem right?"

The next ten minutes were spent verifying that yes, this was a problem, and then Rachel started planning on how to tackle that, running through their options and jotting down notes on the other end of the line. The way Finn figured it, Kurt was already trying to tackle the whole Mike vs Puck issue, so he and Rachel would just combine their powers to take on the Mike vs himself aspect of the situation. It was easy to overlook the other Asian of their group, he was cool and mostly went with the flow and didn't talk too much (with the exception of the other day, which was probably the most talking/shouting Finn has ever heard the dancer do at once).

Well, now Finn was going to put an end to that.

No more overlooking, no more letting Mike slip into the shadows. They were going to give the dancer the attention he deserved and fix this problem, and then, as long as nothing _else_ happened, they were going to smack down the competition next year.

Finn's smile widened as he reclined against his bed, thinking of how nice it would be to make Mr. Goolsby cry.

Yeah, next year was going to be awesome.

But only if they could make it through this summer in one piece.


	4. The Hazardous Entreaty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Puck is still delusional, Rachel only has the best (selfish) intentions, and Sam wishes he had a different set of friends.

After Finn had posted the "Lady Goth freak out" video on YouTube, Artie knew it was only a matter of time before Puck showed up at his house looking for help.

It had taken them awhile before they had reached the point in their relationship where they were tight, but after all the Geometry tutoring, vocal back ups, egg incidents, and a much begged rendition of Rebecca Black's "Friday" in a last ditch effort to win Britney back, it was fairly safe to say that Puck and Artie were each other's wingmen. And that was why the bespectacled teen wasn't even the _least_ bit surprised when Puck busted into his room smack dab in the middle of one of Artie’s more successful Halo campaigns (the jock's timing had always been terrible) and why the bespectacled teen was even less surprised when the words Puck started spewing out didn't have any apparent relevance to his current predicament.

It was just one of Puck's little quirks.

"I think Mike might be the Hulk," Puck declared once he thoroughly distracted Artie long enough to make him lose his first place ranking. The wheelchair-bound teen chose not to reply and frowned at the screen, trying to pull his score up. It was usually best to just let Puck get this stuff out of his system before he engaged in the conversation.

Behind him, the jock flopped onto his bed, unbothered by Artie's lack of response.

"Or maybe it's just Asians in general," he continued, and Artie could just picture his eyes glazing over as he pondered that idea, entertaining thoughts of giant green Asian people running around and smashing buildings. There was a brief moment of silence where Puck continued to daydream, but then he snapped himself out of it, coughing in an attempt to cover up his temporary mental leave.

"Mike was mad," he explained, and Artie's frown deepened, (because "Mike" and "mad" in the same sentence made about as much sense as "Rachel" and "popular" did). "And then he spread it onto Tina."

So the video wasn't the actual incident, it was just a repercussion.

Interesting.

Artie cleared his throat after several seconds of silence had passed, deciding to finally step in while simultaneously making a very satisfying headshot.

HeadlockQueen_20 was going down.

"So," he started casually, smirking as he reclaimed first place. "How did you make Mike mad?"

The snort of indignation Artie received at his question indicated that his hypothesis was correct, and he put the controller down, slowly withdrawing from the game and turning to face his distraction. This would require his complete and undivided attention.

HeadlockQueen_20 could have this round.

"I was just trying to follow the law," Puck lamented, throwing an arm across his eyes overdramatically, and Artie had to refrain from rolling his eyes at the exaggerated gesture.

"Pissing off Mike is following the law?" he asked sarcastically, and the other teen jerked his arm away from his face so that he could properly glare at Artie.

"No dipnut," Puck growled, pointing at him threateningly. "The legit law. Some cop said we had to get counseling which I _thought_ was going to be easy but all Mike does is get mad, even when I'm _not_ there."

And with that Puck threw his arm back across his face, thoroughly mourning the sad state of his world. Multiple questions barraged Artie after Puck's brief and unhelpful explanation, most of them along the lines of what the hell happened (in public) that was so loud and disruptive that a cop (a _real_ cop, because Puck wouldn't bother himself if it wasn't and he had seen enough of them to recognize a true man in blue) would encourage Mike and Puck to seek _counseling_. When did this happen? How did he miss it? And why in God's name did Puck decide to start obeying the rules now?

Though really it had only been a matter of time before something like this happened, and to be honest, Artie was surprised it had taken this long. He had though the dam would burst some time around Regionals. It was almost like watching a documentary on Discovery Channel, studying how the two jocks interacted.

Upon first inspection, Puck and Mike's relationship was like that of any average male teen jock to his fellow average male teen jock. There was an alpha, and a follower, and as long as _that_ balance remained intact all was well with the world. It was clear to see who stood where. Puck, being the more vocal and assertive of the two, dominated their conversations and actions while Mike, being more easy going and submissive, fell in line with the best of them. Even when other variables were added into the equation, like Finn or Sam, that system of hierarchy worked because they all somehow knew by unspoken rule who stood where, and they were all fine with that.

The change began not when Puck dragged Mike and Matt into glee club (which was what any other person would have suspected) but later, when they were juniors. After a year of growing accustomed to voicing himself, stealing the girl, and losing one of his best friends, Mike was slowly coming into his own. He didn't need the hierarchy he had previously subjected himself to because of his constant position as an outcast. Being himself, speaking up, it was helping him grow as a person and as such, he no longer needed an "alpha" to constantly follow around.

Which brought Artie back full circle to Puck's point of view in all this. To say he'd changed drastically since joining New Directions would be a laughable understatement, and while Puck _had_ changed for the better, he still had his fair share of faults. Like just about every other person in the world Puck feared change, and while the ground which he stood on was constantly shifting and rearranging itself for the better, the teen needed _something_ to hold onto, to remain constant through the shifting tides. Hence, his ill-treatment of Mike.

While Puck treated the dancer as a close friend, he still maintained an (and even just thinking this made Artie feel slightly girly but there was no better way to describe it) emotional barrier between them. For Puck, it was his rock, his anchor, but for Mike…it hurt, probably. Seeing how everyone else had somehow moved up in the Puck’s world and he was just left in the dust, scrambling after them in a race he had no hope of winning. The problem (aside from _that_ problem) was finding a way to communicate this to the Puck in a way that he both _understood_ , and would stick around long enough to listen to. No small task.

But first, Artie should probably find out what exactly Puck was doing in his bedroom.

Seeing as his probing on the incident in question only served to get him nowhere, Artie switched his tactics, moving into an area of relative safety.

"So what do you want me to do?"

Puck brightened as he finished the question, perking up as though the offer had not been coerced through the surprise visit.

"We need to spy on him."

And…

Nope, not where he had thought this was going.

Artie blinked, scrubbed at his ear, and blinked again, processing what his wingman had said and marveling at how vastly it differed from what he had assumed he was going to suggest. He had thought, stupidly, that Puck's request would be more along the lines of _"You should talk to him because all I do is instigate rage"_ so he could try and smooth things over.

Playing at subterfuge primo James Bond style had _not_ been what Artie had in mind.

Thankfully Puck could see, or sense, or smell the other teen’s confusion and decided to explain his reasoning behind the decided course of action, rolling himself into seating position and hunching over, staring him straight in the eye.

"There's a conspiracy going down here Artie, and the only way we can get a scoop of the real dirt is if we follow Chang's every move, track his actions, and tap his phones. You know, spy stuff."

First of all, Artie was pretty sure neither one of them knew how to properly tap a phone or even bug a room, and as much as he was for equal opportunity he was pretty sure his handicap would get in the way of any major sneaking.

As if he read his mind, Puck began to reassure his concerns.

"Don't sweat it dude," he urged, reaching forward to pat the side of Artie’s arm. "I've got it all figured out. I'll be the field agent and you can be like, hq, or that tech guy who calls all the shots from that place that has all the monitors and speakers and stuff."

Artie wanted to protest, because this took deflecting a problem to a whole new level of insanity.  As entertaining it would be, and as great a story it would make, odds were it would only serve to dig Puck deeper into the hole he had created whenever Mike inevitably found out.

Sensing his hesitation Puck pushed for the homestretch, thinking Artie was on the fence when he was actually deep in the infield.

"Come on Artie, I need you man. We both know that as awesome as I am, Puckasauras doesn't have the smarts to pull this off alone."

That, made Artie pause.

If Puck really _was_ as intent to do this as he seemed he was, he would probably go for it whether Artie agreed to help him or not. At least if Artie helped him there was a smidgeon of a chance they could pull with off without Mike catching on. Eventually Puck would get bored when he realized there was no conspiracy, and by the end of it they would have a really great story.

Besides, he had always wanted to see what it would be like to be a spy, and this was the closest he was ever going to get.

"Okay," Artie replied after a moment of hesitation, and Puck whooped, punching his fist into the air.

"Alright!" Puck cheered, hopping off the bed, "This is gonna be awesome Wheels, trust me."

As Puck continued to spout off plans and commandeer his computer to look up the gear they would need, Artie sat back and sighed; getting the distinct feeling he should warn someone about this. He wasn't entirely sure _who_ , but he should tell someone.

If only to get their camera ready.

Lord knows he was going to.

-:-:-:-:-:-

_*click*_

"Hello?"

"Mercedes, it's Rachel-"

"I know, I have caller ID."

"Listen, as much as I enjoy your periodic doses of sass, mostly because it keeps me constantly aware that there are others who would try to steal my spotlight, we have a problem."

"…What?"

"It's Mike."

"Look Eva Perone, you better get to the point-"

"He doesn't think he has a soul."

"…Seriously?"

"I'm not making this up, Finn heard it from main source himself, Kurt can even back up his claim. Mike doesn't think he has a soul."

"Why the hell does he think that?"

"I don't know, but if New Directions has to worry about any more snags, or break ups, or whatever attempt at overdramatic behavior this is we are going to crash and burn during a year that is _supposed_ to be filled with our inevitable and well deserved triumph. We cannot allow this to go unaddressed."

"Normally I would say you were overreacting, but damn it, I don't want anything to ruin my senior year. What do you propose?"

"Well…I've always wanted to try out an intervention, you know, gathering together with Mike in a place that inspires calm and relaxation and trust. I've never had the opportunity to do one and I doubt another will arise so it's best that we do it now."

"…a soul intervention?"

"Yes, Mike needs to know that he is loved and respected here, and we need to put an end to his self doubting and constant need to disacknowledge his value both as an individual _and_ as a performer. As overused as the common aphorism is, we _are_ only as strong as our weakest link."

"…this sounds crazy, so it should probably work."

"There's nothing crazy about it Mercedes-"

"Whatever, lets just get down to the details, shall we?"

"Of course."

"Who should we invite?"

"Well, Mike, of course. You, me…I tried to ask Finn if he was interested but Kurt has expressly forbidden him to interact with Mike in any way, and odds are he wouldn't be able to comprehend or contribute to the emotional aspects of this event anyway. Should we invite Tina?”

"No. No, no, no, and no. You do _not_ want to invite her."

"I only ask because-"

"Trust me, now is not a good time."

"The negative ramifications of his beliefs must have spread farther then I had originally anticipated."

"Sure, whatever.  I'll call Kurt and see what we can come up with."

"Great, I'll start doing research. We need to set _just_ the right mood to ensure maximum success and-"

"Got it, you'll do the research. I'll call you back tomorrow with an update."

"Thank you Mercedes."

"Chang's gonna be the one thanking _us_ when we get through with him."

_*click*_

-:-:-:-:-:-

Sam darted his eyes back and forth, pointless, but Mike's agitated state was rubbing off on him, so he did it anyway. Assured that he was alone in the grungy, run-down bathroom, he pulled the phone he had very carefully snagged out of Mike's back pocket (a feat he had been incredibly unwilling to do but drastic times called for drastic measures) up to his ear, hitting the dial button and praying someone would pick up. He almost didn't care who.

Thankfully, when his call was collected on the other end of the line it was exactly who he was looking for. She didn't bother with any preamble, and Sam could see how easily she and Puck got along.

"You've got a lot of nerve calling here Chang, ever since wrestling season ended I've been looking for a way to release my excess frustration and after your girlfriend stuck her psycho nails into my boy-toy's hide I've just been _dying_ to ring her up and include her in my new workout routine." Zizes paused there, just long enough to let the creepy sink in (and it _did_ sink in, never in his life had Sam been so glad he wasn't Tina) and catch her breath.

"I'll give you a hint," she warned, tone a deadly kind of joking. "It'll involve my fist meeting her face."

Before he could lose his nerve or receive any more threats of bodily harm he would rather not bare witness to Sam spoke up, coughing awkwardly and trying very hard _not_ to imagine Tina getting the snot kicked out of her by a very angry Zizes.

"It's Sam," he said, trying not to sound as intimidated as he felt. "I just borrowed Mike's phone."

Another pause, Lauren reevaluating the situation.

"Oh," she mumbled, surprised but recovered quickly. "Well, what can I do for you blondie?"

Good, she didn't ask him to pass her message on. That conversation would have taken a very uncomfortable turn when it got to the part where he mentioned stealing Mike's phone and violating the sanctity that was the jean back pocket.

Sam shook his head, trying to focus while he still had time.

"Listen Lauren, I don't have a lot of time. I had to threaten Mike that I would pee in his car if he didn't let me use the bathroom and then jack his phone just to make this call."

Zizes interrupted while he took a much needed breath, disbelief clear in her voice. "What, is he holding you hostage?"

"…something like that." He glanced at his watch and saw the seconds ticking by. "I just…called to warn you. We're on our way to your house."

" _My_ house?" Zizes echoed, creepy edge back into her tone, and Sam wished more than anything he could somehow get Mike to just give this up and call it a night. "So he wants to bring the party here, that's even better. Now I can mess up Tina's boy the way she messed up mine."

There was a pause were Sam stared in horror at the dirt littered floor, really, _really_ wishing his communicating skills were better.

Unaware of his state of panic, Lauren continued on, "Do you know how to work a camera?"

"No!" Sam shouted as soon as he recovered (well, he _did_ know how to work a camera, but that wasn't really the hot issue here).

"Geez fish lips, you don't need to be so sensitive about it," Lauren joked, and Sam shook his head sadly.

"Not that…" he mumbled, running a hand through his hair. He was wasting too much time. "Mike's been…something happened, I think Puck did something, and he's just really confused right now so if you could just please, _please_ not hurt him or beat him or cause him any harm I would really appreciate it."

"Puck did something?" the wrestler asked, sounding mildly…interested?

Shouldn't she be offended that Sam was…what, besmirching her boyfriends honor or something?

There was a sudden banging on the door, and Sam jumped, almost dropping the phone. The voice wasn't a surprise at all, Mike's shadow dancing underneath the door as though he were frantically dancing or pacing or whatever he did when he was knocking on doors.

"Hurry up Sam, before the trail runs cold!"

Which didn't make any sense because the GPS in his car wasn't going to forget how to take them there, but by this point Sam had learned not to argue.

"Just a minute!" he yelled back, edging his way over to the toilet so he could flush it with his foot.

Yeah, even he had to draw the line somewhere.

On the other end of the line, probably having heard everything that just happened, Lauren picked the conversation back up, voice contemplative and friendly in that not-quite-friendly way. "You make an interesting offer trouty mouth.  Seal the deal with a twenty four pack of snickers, paid for by Tina of course, and promise to keep me informed of the situation and your Asian will remain untouched."

How the-? But Tina wasn't…

_Uhh_ … Sam was going to have to play relationship counselor to _those_ two when this was all done. Or maybe he could just get Rachel to pay for them. She'd paid off Lauren before, she could do it again. He'd probably just have to promise to sing some duets with her or something. She always seemed to be on the prowl for some studly guitar back up.

The pounding on the door started up again, and Sam flushed the toilet quickly, moving over to the sink so he could start going through the necessary motions there.

"Deal," he whispered into the phone, and then he snapped it shut quickly, shoving it into his pocket and exiting the disgusting smelling death closet before Mike got impatient and busted the door down.

Chang would owe him for this one _so_ bad when he came back to his senses.


	5. The Ill Conceived Retaliation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zizes makes a bold attempt to melt Mike’s brain. Meanwhile, Artie and Puck may or may not be illegally trespassing. It’s kind of a toss up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a date jump in this chapter. I marked them, but I just wanted to give a heads up.

_*Monday Night*_

Five minutes with Lauren Zizes was long enough for Mike to figure out that he wasn't going to achieve any of his goals. The girl was a rock, completely unbothered by anything he tried to throw at her. Every comment, every spastic motion, every unjustified, bizarre accusation was met with an amused smile and absolute silence (and if it wasn't _that_ it was a smart comment that sent Mike into a fiery rampage anew). He hadn't really thought he would get anything from her (because he had no idea what she could possibly share about Puck's epic amount of stupidity that he didn't already know) but he had at least thought…you know, he could provoke her a _little_ bit.

Yet she remained unfazed, and he couldn't quite bring himself to be terrible enough of a person to make up outright _lies_ to get Puck in trouble.

Damn him and his noble tendencies.

Minute by minute Mike was losing his steam, and sooner or later he would end up curled in the fetal position against Lauren's wall, collapsed in a fit of depression and spilling out the miserable facts of his life to his best friend and arch nemesis' girlfriend. Maybe he should just cut and run before he had to endure that humiliation.

Sam had yet to make any sort of contribution since the conversation had started, more or less it seemed like he was doing his very best to become a part of Zizes' furniture, willing himself into an absolute stillness that would have made statues proud. Mike _almost_ felt bad for dragging the blond along, really the only reason he had brought Sam was because he wanted a witness if Lauren decided to brush off some of her wrestling moves on him. If Mike had known she was going to be so…chill with this whole experience he wouldn't have even bothered the other teen.

Weird though, Mike would have thought displeasure would have been her initial reaction to his sudden appearance.

Despair edging in, he collapsed beside Sam onto the bed, resting his head in his hands while Zizes made an appreciative humming sound that frazzled his nerves into a new state of…frazzlement.

Yeah, this was not going well.

Across the room, in a chair Mike had set up similar to Puck's interrogation (though that was more of a gut feeling because in the video it had been overturned on the floor along with a majority of Tina's furniture), Zizes' hum turned into an amused laugh that skirted on the edge of maniacal, and Mike summoned up enough energy so that he could properly glare at her.

"You throwing in the towel Chang?" she asked, un-cliché and totally heartfelt evil glint in her eye. He was shaking his fist at her before he could really process it, and her laugh brought back the net of depression that had hovering over him like a frowny face storm cloud. Valiantly, he fought the urge to do some furniture toppling himself.

She frowned, mock-offended. "I expected a little more from you."

The taunt struck a sore spot within him (like just about everything else she'd done) and Mike was on his feet in an instant, hands clenching and unclenching in indecision because he really hadn't planned any farther then _"must stand up"_.

Zizes laughed again, finding humor in his predicament. 

"Well," she began when the laughing died down (god he hated the laughing). "If you're quite finished, I've got a few questions for you."

Mike really shouldn't let this happen, because (in Puck's words) _he_ was the badass in charge here and letting the interogee ask questions _ever_ should not be considered an option. Still, everything else had pretty much failed, and Lauren _had_ been pretty reasonable about this entire exchange (except for the massive damage she had dealt to his ego), so Mike sighed and gave her a helpless shrug, collapsing beside Sam once more while the blond sent him sympathetic looks, patting his arm in a hesitant display of brotherhood and reluctant caring.

"Whatever," Mike mumbled, sending Sam a silent thanks via thumbs up. "I don't care anymore."

Zizes smiled like a cat that finally gotten her mouse and Mike began to think that the eerie feeling of doom building up in his stomach was more than completely justified.

"Well I'm sure you've been asked this plenty of times," Lauren began; focus completely on his person, unnerving Mike further with the subtle deranged feel of it. "But I know that Sammy and I here are just _dying_ to know what my hunk of a manchop has done to make you so…like him."

She stopped, waiting patiently for her answer, and Sam (the damn turncoat) tried and failed to hide his anticipation, being very unsuccessful in his “casual” staring.

Mike growled and ran his hands through his hair, frustrated.

"You mean aside from the fact," he started, trying to remain calm. "That he keeps calling me a girl?" (Because he was _not_ a girl and did _not_ act like one, no matter what Puck said). "Or how about the fact he somehow managed to provoke my girlfriend _just_ enough to attack him _and_ angry enough she refuses to talk to me?" 

Mike stood up suddenly, nervous energy building up. He forced his feet to stay glued to the ground because if he started pacing he was just one snide comment away from assaulting someone.  "How about the fact that he _refuses_ to show me even the _tiniest_ amount of respect, even though I have always been cool to him?"

His toe was tapping and he kept shifting his weight from side-to-side, he started wringing his hands so as to avoid letting them do anything unpleasant.

"Or how about the fact," he started up again, glaring at the floor, "That he flat out refuses, _refuses_ to apologize in _any way_ for the incident that started this whole mess in the first place!"

The world was moving around him and Mike realized with a start that his feet had decided to take initiative without his brain's consent and were already etching wild circles into Zizes' floor. Well whatever, more power to them.  He couldn't really bring himself to care.

He stopped suddenly, turning to stare Sam in the eye. "Did you know that we got mugged while we were searching for that stupid accordion? Yeah, he decided we should rap for money and then we actually _lost_ money because he put some more in that stupid hat!"

Sam was confused, mouthing _"what hat?"_ to Zizes just as she was mouthing _"What accordion?"_ but Mike didn’t stop.

"And then he's all, _'Stop being such a girl, Mike'_ and _'Stop making a scene Mike'_ and he doesn't even bother telling me there's a cop there just _waiting_ to drag me off to jail!" He paused, looking back and forth between them wildly. "Who does that?"

Mike stopped, gazing out the window, trying to make himself take deep, calming breaths and that cursed humming started up again. He was about to just give up and grab Sam so they could get the hell out of dodge when Lauren started talking again, clearing her throat in a way that was not all that surprising considering the amount of arrogance she had displayed so far.

What she said however, that was a whole different story.

"I'm sensing a lot of sexual tension here," she declared after a moment of hesitation, and Mike's brain ground to a jerking halt. His breath caught in his throat and he gave off a startled gurgle/cough thing that was just loud enough to break Sam out of his own shock and send the dancer a concerned look.

Meanwhile Zizes just sat there, completely impassive.  Mike tried to make his voice come back so that he could tell her the multitude of things that were wrong with that statement but then the idea of _"Puck + sex"_ really hit him and he was forced to claw desperately at his eyes in a poor attempt to get _that_ mental image out of his head.

By the end of it Mike was just proud that he didn't completely fall apart then and there in a whimpering puddle of utter dejection.

"I have a girlfriend!" he announced, thrusting up his fist in triumph as though this was an indisputable fact (when at the moment that was actually highly debatable) that completely disproved her entire argument.

Lauren nodded slowly, accepting his conjecture but by no means backing down because of it. "I'm not arguing _that_ happy feet, I'm sure you and Elvira's relationship is going just as smoothly as me and my super stud's, but that doesn’t change the fact that there is _a lot_ of unresolved tension that's culminating between the two of you that I believe stems from an unaddressed attraction."

His brain would never recover from this.  _Ever_.  He would forever be scarred.

When did Lauren start sounding like Rachel? And shouldn't she be more upset about this?

No, thinking like that was like admitting she was right and she wasn't even _kind've_ right, she was so, so, _so_ wrong because this had nothing to do with man sex and had everything to do with Puck being a gigantically humongous dipwad.

Oh god, now Mike was able to think things like 'man sex' and not even gag.

This was all Puck's fault.

There was an almost sympathetic look in Lauren's eye when Mike gathered up the courage to glance her way (like just looking at her would be enough encouragement for her to go into intimate detail on how he and Puck should- _ohgodhisbrainnoooo_ ).

"I think you just need to give into temptation and get it out of your system," she decided, nodding her head in approval.  "Preferably where Tina and I can watch."

"My brain is melting," Mike complained, mourning this fact to two people who obviously didn't care (well, Sam _could_ care, but he appeared to have long since thrown in the towel on this conversation and was doing his very, _very_ best to take his mind to anywhere but here).

"I know," Zizes tried to console (as though Mike could take consolation from the monster who seemed more than willing to force him into nonconsensual relations with her moron of a boyfriend).  "It's a lot to take in at once."

This was like some bad sitcom he couldn't escape from.

"I don't want to make out with your boyfriend!" Mike yelled, gesturing at Zizes in what he hoped was an intimidating fashion, but the amused face was back (with hints of Sue Sylvester evil) and Mike felt a foreboding chill run up his spine.

"Then why is your face all red?" Lauren asked, taunting levels at maximum, and Mike glared at her, standing his ground (the ground that was quickly crumbling away from underneath him in the most pathetic of manners).

"From anger!" he shouted back, and then hung his head, sadly kicking his feet. "And despair."

_Oh,_ the despair.

"It only gets worse if you try and deny it."

There was a taunting ring in her tone when she replied which may or _may not_ be the reason Mike responded immediately without really putting any thought into what he was saying. Because _that_ had served him so well in the past.

He glared at her; crossing his arms to communicate his decision was final. "I'm not cheating on my girlfriend."

He tried to growl but ended up with more of a weird cough thing that was incredibly unmanly. Fortunately, that wasn't what the other two room occupants felt like talking about anyway.

Sam was looking at him in horror, betrayal etched all over his face. "Dude, you want to make out with Puck?"

"What?" No, that's the complete opposite- how could Sam- "I just said-"

Zizes was happy to fill him in on what he missed. "No, you said you wouldn't cheat on your girlfriend, which implies you'd be more than willing to suck face with my Puckster if you didn't have the old ball and chain."

Mike was to busy choking on the idea of "Face sucking + Puck" (which was _almost_ as bad as "Puck + sex" and he really wished his imagination would just shut down _right now_ ) but luckily Sam was ready to move on with the conversation, having somehow become immune to all of Zizes’ mentions of man sex.

…man sex, _ugh_.

The blond's eyes were wide, confusion overtaking his initial horror as he switched his focus from boring holes into Mike's face to getting an answer from Lauren. "I thought that only applies to wives?"

"Whatever," she replied absently, waving in Sam's direction to indicate that the small amount of attention she could dedicate to him was now over. Her eyes remained glued to Mike's, fingers itching towards a cell phone that he had overlooked resting on her desk. "I bet if I called Tina up right now she'd be game."

No, no, no, _nobody_ was calling Tina. Mike was not going to let any more Puck-related items or people or _things_ get into contact with Tina, _especially_ if they were going to suggest that they do the dirty. Also, he had a small fear his girlfriend would actually accept this proposal (she had tried to not-so-subtly drop the hint that she was very appreciative of some man-on-man action) and while he really loved his girlfriend, he _would not_ do that.

Because kissing a guy would be gross. And kissing Puck would pretty much be inviting all kinds of unpleasant sexual diseases onto him.

Also, it would be gross.

"You people are all crazy," Mike declared. Before he could lose his nerve he darted across the room, snatched up Zizes’ phone like his life depended on it (and _it did_ ) and shoved it into his pocket just as he evaded Lauren's grasp and he pelted towards the door. He stopped once he made it to the threshold, pausing to glare at Sam.

"And you," he murmured, squinting his eyes in a threatening manner.  "You are the worst backup ever!"

Mission accomplished (and wounded in more ways than he cared to mention), Mike exited the building, trying to figure out his next course of action.

Maybe….

Flowers, black roses.

Yeah, he just needed to like, serenade Tina and then he could put this unpleasantness behind him. And never, _ever_ think of it again.

-:-:-:-:-:-

It was deathly silent when Mike left the room, leaving Sam to uncomfortably fidget while Lauren glared at the door in a slightly put off manner. The blond scrubbed at his ear tiredly, wishing he could forget the second half of their conversation.

Wishing he could just take a nap.

Lauren sighed quietly, standing up and popping the cricks out of her back. "He knows I have a land line, right?"

It was a rhetorical question, but Sam tried to put up a little defense for his friend. "…He's a little stressed."

"Repressed, is more like it," she grumbled, and Sam's mind froze again, refusing to acknowledge what she had said. Lauren turned to look at him, wagging a finger at him threateningly. "You better get my phone back."

"I will," he replied, because one did not cross Lauren Zizes (he had seen what she had done to Quinn). He suddenly groaned, staring at his feet dejectedly. "He drove me here."

Sam had known that he had risked losing his ride whenever he decided to join Mike, but he had really been hoping to avoid walking home.

Lauren took pity on him, exercising one of her rare moments of kindness. "Let me get my keys."

Hey, no walking for this guy. Well, it was the least she could do after all the... _ughhhh_ -

_Just don't think about it fish lips,_ he thought; rubbing the side of his head.   _It'll be better if you just forget it._

-:-:-:-:-:-

_*Wednesday Night*_

" _kff_. Professor X, this is Barracuda, I am in position. _Kff_. Over."

Artie glared down at the walkie talkie his hand, allowing himself an unintelligible sound of annoyance before bringing the device to his lips.  "Puck, stop making static noises, and I already told you my code name is Condor."

Because if _he_ got to have a badass animal name, then Artie got to as well.  It was only fair as they acted out their amateur espionage fantasies.

" _Kff_. Sorry Professor X, I didn't quite catch that. Maybe you should end the phrase with 'over' if you're over…over."

Artie rolled his eyes.  "I'm Condor _damnit_ , Puck.”

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Artie sighed, bringing the radio back up to his mouth. “ _Over_."

"Dude, Professor X is much more fitting,” Puck defended through their radio connection.  Despite the fact they weren’t actually that far apart, Puck had demanded they start using their new communication equipment as soon as he left the van. “Besides, it makes you sound like a super genius, over."

Well…since Artie _was_ the brains of this operation, he supposed a change in codename to acknowledge this fact wouldn’t be so bad.

" _Fine,”_ Artie replied, making sure to hold on to his annoyance so that Puck wouldn’t get a bigger head. “I'll be Professor X. Barracuda, what's our status? Over."

"Jackie Chan has gathered at the car dealership with Baby face, Barbara Streisand, Harry Potter, and the Head Manager herself. Doesn't look like anyone else is coming. Over."

To be honest, Artie was surprised the status wasn’t _‘someone discovered me hiding in this tree’_ but the obliviousness of the residents of Lima Ohio was something that really shouldn’t come to a shock to him by now.  Actually, he was more surprised that Puck had figured out how to use the binoculars Artie had given him.  After the three disastrous practice runs with it, that in itself was a feat to be celebrated.

Or maybe the fact you could _have_ a disastrous trial run with a pair of binoculars was the thing to be celebrated.  It certainly seemed like the more difficult thing to achieve.

But, wait a minute…

"The car dealership?" Artie asked, eyebrows furrowing as he contemplated Puck’s unusual codename. 

"Mercedes' house.” Puck answered with an aggravated huff.  “God, do I have to explain everything to you? Over."

"Got it,” Artie replied, grinding his teeth together at Puck’s vexed tone. “Checking visual now. Over."

"Awesome…over."

He tossed his radio onto the seat beside him and set his laptop in front of him, checking the feed from the tiny spy camera Puck had managed to liberate from Artie he would probably feel more comfortable _not_ knowing about.  The display appeared to be completed filled with tree branches and leaves.  Not quite what Artie had been hoping for.

With one last critical stare Artie snatched his radio back up.  "Barracuda you've got it pointed at the ground."

"Oh…what?”  Puck asked, but then he seemed to realize what Artie wanted and the screen began shaking. “Gimme a second. Over."

There was a pause and then the display began to shift, moving in sporadic, twitchy motions before coming to a halt, Puck fixing it into place so that Artie finally had a view of something that wasn’t the ground.

Unfortunately, _now_ all he had a view of was a happy gathering of clouds and the mess of branches that came before them, still not _quite_ what Artie had been hoping for.

"How about now, over?"

Artie sighed, willing to keep his annoyance in check.  "Now it's pointed at the sky."

"What the hell man?” Puck asked, struggling to keep his voice down as he fiddled with the device some more. “How can a tiny camera be so hard to use?"

"Just pin it to your shirt," Artie suggested, counting to ten in his head at his partner’s lack of spying skills. 

It was becoming more and more obvious that being the brains of the operation entailed being the only one who possessed even the _smallest_ amount of common sense.  Not that difficult, considering what he had to work with, but still, how hard was it to aim a camera?”

" _Fine_ …” Puck grumbled, and the display shifted again, the darkness from the would-be spy’s gloves traveling the edges of the screen as he fixed it to his shirt.  “How bout now?"

"Great,” Artie replied, pleased as the side of the house came into view, the window to Mercedes’ room only obstructed by some stubborn tree branches. “Visual's all clear Barracuda."

"How about hearing? Over."

Since they both already knew the radio were working fine Puck must have been referring to the bugs they had planted earlier, which was entirely irrelevant since there _weren’t_ any bugs in Mercedes house, but Artie decided it would be faster to humor Puck as opposed to attempting to argue this logic, and swiftly moved on.

"Yeah, the bug's working great,” he replied, checking the readouts on his laptop.  “Too bad they're not doing this at Mike's house, then we would definitely know what was going on."

Of course, there were less trees at Mike’s house, so there was a greater chance of them getting _arrested_ too.

"Challenges of being a spy Professor X,” Puck said all-knowingly, with the confidence of someone who had been doing this all his life. “Any suspicious activity on your end?"

Artie gave his surroundings a cursory inspection and shrugged, confirming the nothing he had already seen.  "Nope.  No one's bothered by a guy in a wheel chair hanging out in his van."

Though you’d think at some point they _would_ be, but the uncaring nature of Lima’s citizens was not new to Artie.  It was every man for himself out here, it would probably be stranger if someone _had_ stopped to check on him.

"Super convenient that your dad's car happened to be white dude," Puck continued optimistically, unaware of Artie’s mental digression.

"Yeah,” Artie agreed. “Too bad it didn't have paneling. Guess my dad didn't foresee this particular aspect when he was purchasing it."

"Well that's what the fake mustache and the fedora are for,” Puck answered, as though Artie _didn’t_ remember losing that particular argument. “No one will know it's you."

Unless they figured out he was in a wheelchair, from then on out the process of elimination wouldn’t be too terribly difficult.

"Sure thing Puck,” Artie agreed unenthusiastically, moving on.  “I mean, _Barracuda_. What do you see with the binoculars?"

The view of the window he had was great and all, but it was difficult to perceive any specifics from that alone, save for the vague outlines of people, but he couldn’t tell how many or who was where, or what exactly they were doing.

There was a pause for a moment as Puck repositioned himself to get a better view.  "It looks like they're in some kind of circle,” he said.  “Jackie doesn't look happy about it, big surprise there, and Barbara and Manager are lighting some candles."

So circle, candles, and most of the meddling members of glee club, what could it mean?

"What about Baby face and Harry Potter?" Artie asked as he pondered the possibilities of the set up.

"Not contributing, looks like they're just sitting there."

So this had to be instigated by Rachel and Mercedes, if Kurt wasn’t helping.  It must be a girl thing he invited himself to if the candles were any indication, but why was Mike there?

Artie frowned, fingers drumming restlessly against the edge of his keyboard.  "I'd figure they'd be all over…whatever this is."

"I'm telling Professor, conspiracy. The proof is in the pudding."

"I didn't honestly think we'd get anything out of this Barracuda,” Artie admitted, ignoring the indignant huff from Puck.  “But I've got to say you might _actually_ be right."

"I told you," Puck replied, emulating the epitome of smugness.

"It's creepy."

"Stay focused Professor,” Puck cautioned. “The night is still young."

"Don't worry,” Artie replied, carefully removing the sarcasm from his tone so that all that remained was utter sincerity.  “I'm ever vigilant."

Some of his snark must have snuck into his words anyway because Puck sounded a little peeved whenever he replied.  "Whatever,” he murmured, and Artie was about to think of something that would soothe his ego when the other teen cut back in, disbelief permeating his tone.  “ _Dude_."

"What?"  Artie asked, struggling to do a better job making out the picture on his laptop screen, trying to see what Puck saw.

"I think they've got Chang tied up."

"Are you serious?"  He gripped the sides of his monitor as though it would give him a better view, knowing it was useless but making the exercise in futility anyway.

"I know a handcuff when I see one," Puck replied honestly, and _that_ was an all-knowing Artie could rely on, a level of assuredness he would never have to question.  That _sort’ve_ explained why Mike was there, because he couldn’t leave, but it still didn’t explain everything. 

"Do you think they're going to torture him?" Artie asked, legitimately worried.

Sure, Mike _might_ have stolen his girlfriend from him right under his nose, but he was honestly a really good guy.  Like, good to a fault, and hated making waves.  Not for himself.  That was a kind of selflessness that made it difficult _not_ to forgive him for any slights, and an easy going attitude that made you want to be his friend.

And it wasn’t like Rachel and Mercedes would do ill to Mike on _purpose_ , they liked him too, but it was undeniable that they could be…a little bit crazy without meaning to.  All the time.  Everyday. 

"No,” Puck answered, sounding _almost_ let down by this fact. “It looks more like one of those awful therapy sessions."

Yeah, that made a lot more sense.

"No wonder they had to handcuff him," Artie replied.  This was much more Rachel’s style.  She had probably noticed all the insanity that was happening in the glee club and was trying to fix it, with the more reasonable of the two members involved.  Or at least the one that was more likely to _put up_ with surprise therapy sessions.

"He looks really unhappy," Puck commented, sounding delighted by the prospect. 

Artie sighed, knowing all to well where this was going, and waited for Puck to continue.

"It's _awesome_ ," Puck declared.

"Of course you would say that."  Artie rolled his eyes.  Honestly, he wished Puck wasn’t so predictable.  It would be a nice change of pace to have some surprise in his behavior. 

"Hey, you wanna hate the Puckster, you better be ready for some psycho therapy,” Puck defended smoothly, so _beyond_ pleased with this turn of events. “It's cool that Rachel's interference is _finally_ working in my favor."

"You think that's what this is about?" Artie asked, somewhat surprised Puck managed to come to that conclusion, and he could imagine Puck shrugging, keeping his eyes focused on the window.

"It has to be."

"There are other things in the world besides you,” Artie chided.  “They could be concerned for Mike."

"Sure man,” Puck scoffed, all-consumed by his ego.  “If that makes you happy."

"It's possible-"

" _Ha_!” Puck interrupted, forgetting the prime objective of _stealth_ in order to properly celebrate.  “Now they're hugging him!"

"The horror," Artie deadpanned, rolling his eyes at Puck’s joy.

"He's shaking his fist at them," Puck replied, loving _every_ moment of this.

Artie tilted his head thoughtfully.  "He seems really grumpy as of late."

"He's been really _stupid_ as of late."

Yet another argument not worth making, so Artie let it slide, preparing himself for the next barrage of Puck-conversation.

A few seconds later Puck let out an inarticulate sound of frustration. " _Damnit_ , why is lip reading so hard?"

"Did something happen?"

"He's ranting again,” Puck responded, shifting forward to get a clearer view through all the branches.  “But it looks like something really good because Harry and Kurt are leaning in. I need to get in there."

"His name is Blaine,” Artie corrected automatically. “And no, you do _not_ need to go in there, you agreed we would only observe."

Artie really didn’t want to get arrested today.  He was sure Mercedes would be lenient on him, and Puck too if her mood was good, but her parents probably wouldn’t be so positively inclined. 

"Well that was _before_ ,” Puck lectured, already beginning his decent from his camouflaged perch.  “This is _now_."

"Puck-"

" _Barracuda_ ,” Puck corrected stubbornly. “And chill Professor, I'll be sneaky, like a lion."

Artie rolled his eyes.  "Lion's aren't-"

"Beginning infiltration,” Puck cut in, disregarding the merits of his argument.  Even if they were _true_.  “Must maintain radio silence."

Artie tried again anyway, because it was the best he could do, to try and reign the other teen in when all the crazy started happening.  He was the responsible one, after all.  "Puck, I really-"

" _Radio_ , silence," Puck urged, not taking any arguments.

It was settled then.

Artie sighed.  “Good luck,” he whispered quietly.  He didn’t care if Puck demanded silence, if he was going to ignore Artie’s instructions; Artie was going to ignore _his_.  And that would be that.

"Won't need it," Puck scoffed, so full of himself it was almost overflowing.

Artie didn’t bother with an answer, choosing instead to chuck his radio to the side with an irritated huff, crossing his arms as his gaze settled back onto his screen.

"Sure you won't," he muttered.

He considered his uselessness for a second, pondering if his abilities were simply limited to a silent spectator, and then was immediately struck with an idea.  Seeing as what he was about to watch would _probably_ end with cinematic gold...

"Yep,” Artie said, his mood instantly brightening as manipulated the software, sitting back with a contented sigh. “Starting recording _now_."

Maybe then Finn would stop lauding his YouTube victories over the bespectacled teen’s head.

If anyone was going to be a cinematic genius, it was going to be _him_. 

Obviously.


	6. The Involuntary Confinement

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike laments…everything. And someone else decides to join the party.

Mike really needed to make a new group of friends.

Preferably a group of normal, not-crazy friends that didn't overreact to overreactions and didn't battle the mildly perturbed with extreme and freakishly thorough counter attacks.

The handcuffs were a nice touch though.

After he had managed to jerk himself out of his awe-induced trance (how, _how_ , did they manage to handcuff his wrist to Mercedes' bed without him noticing and _where_ did they even _find_ them?) he had spent the following three minutes rubbing his wrists raw in a poor attempt to free himself and the three minutes following _that_ demanding his immediate release. This was mostly aimed at Blaine (Mike was hoping that the McKinley madness hadn't spread to him yet, there was still a chance he could be reasoned with) but Kurt stepped in before he could break out the puppy eyes and glared him into submission, making Mike feel something akin to a scolded three year old.

The highly fashionable teen might be against this whole "soul intervention" thing too, but he appeared to be completely out of patience for Mike's temper tantrums and wanted to get to the bottom of things.

Mike probably hadn't helped his case by storming out of their first two therapy sessions. The handcuffs would stay.

But at least Tina was talking to him again.

It had taken a _lot_ of flowers, a dance serenade specifically choreographed for her, and an evening out at Breadstix completely mother-free, but she was talking to him. They were _supposed_ to see a movie tonight, but she had accepted a bribe from Kurt ($100 gift card, Mike couldn't beat that) and tricked him into stopping at Mercedes'. A casual drop-in, they'd done it plenty of times before, so how was he supposed to know that the moment he waltzed in he would immediately be attacked and dragged unwillingly into the sordid depths of the deranged affair that was his "friends" attempt at helping him.

The first five minutes had gone a little something like this:

Himself: General ranting about unhappiness and objecting to his ill treatment.

Rachel: _"Blah, blah, blah, my boyfriend caught the wrong end of a conversation and got me to focus all my psycho powers on something that in no way could be an issue."_

Mercedes: _"I wasn't completely on board with this idea but Rachel has threatened something I hold dear to me should we let this fester so I'm all in"_

Kurt: Laughing at his misfortune and desperation for the dirty details had made him toss his integrity out the window.

Blaine: Smiling nicely and going along with it, still throwing fearful glances Mike's way.

So all in all, it was safe to say they had gotten nowhere.

And then of course Kurt had the audacity to mention Puck, which from past experience it was pretty evident what _that_ was going to lead to, but with the conversation Mike had with Zizes still fresh in his head he _may_ have gone off on a tangent that had nothing to do with Kurt's suggestion and everything to do with Mike trying to explain his ten point argument on how "he + Puck" could _never_ equal man sex.

It probably would have been a lot more effective if it had at least been relevant to the conversation, or mildly provoked, but that wasn't a thought that really occurred to him until he was at point three and by then retreat wasn't really an option. The faces of his friends (and friend's acquaintance boyfriend he may have mentally scarred) were completely enthralled (Kurt and Mercedes practically salivating at the juicy gossip this would make), with the exception of Rachel, who for once was struck silent and portraying the perfect expression of confusion.

So Mike was handcuffed and tired and at the mercy of two of McKinley's biggest gossip divas and trying to stop now would be like trying to avoid meeting Tina's parents. He would have to do it eventually and it would only be more painful the longer he put it off. He would know, he'd done it.

So yeah, he was committed.

"Number five," he ranted, waving his arm wildly as though his audience could be distracted by random flourishes. "He's _stupid_."

"I thought that was point number one," Blaine interrupted, legitimately trying to be helpful and Mike threw a glare his way that would even make Sue Sylvester proud (ever since this whole thing began he had started practicing) and the boyfriend slightly withered, fidgeting uncomfortably with the sleeve of his designer shirt.

Beside him Kurt reached out and gave his arm a well practiced pat, simultaneously giving Mike a look that said he was not at all amused by his behavior.

Mike avoided looking in his eyes, choosing instead to focus on Mercedes. "It's also point number eight, because he is _really_ stupid."

(And also because Mike couldn't articulate two more points that didn't cause his skin to crawl; and a ten point plan sounded incredibly more impressive than an eight point one).

He continued before any further arguments/complaints/interruptions could be made, clearing his throat quietly and running a hand through his hair.

"Point number six, Puck has a girlfriend."

Not the strongest of arguments because it was pretty obvious after two years of glee club that Puck had no qualms with cheating or man-stealing- no, girl-stealing (which was why it was point number six as all other girlfriend-related points had already been stated (2: Mike had a girlfriend, 3: he would not _cheat_ on his girlfriend, 4: his girlfriend was awesomesauce and he was lucky to have her)). The safe points were over, and now came the awkwardly worded but very, _very_ important securement of sexuality points.

Mike could do this, he was awesome and manly and this wasn't as big a deal as his brain was currently making it because he didn't _like_ guys and he _really_ didn't like Puck and why couldn't he have normal friends that didn't resort to handcuffs?

"Point number six," he began once he'd reclaimed his mojo. "He's not even that good looking."

He's _not_ …not that Mike had really been looking at him that hard in _that_ way, but based on the basic information he had gathered on knowing Puck for like, _ever_ , Mike had to say he wasn't all that impressed with the Mohawk, didn't get what people saw in it. Inspired (and sure it would only help prove his point), Mike decided to share his thought, knowing that if he fully explained himself he would be able to clarify all confusion/any future suggestions of him getting it on with Puck.

"That's pretty much a requirement right?" he asked, aiming his question at Kurt but moving on before the fashionista got a chance to reply.

"How are you supposed to do the dirty,” he refused to call it _"intimate relations"_ like Rachel had. "If they're not even…you know."

But maybe they _don't_ know, so he kept going.

"I'm not even that vain a guy, but _some_ kind of visual aesthetic appeal has to be there, right? Just a little something." He paused, exhaling slowly as he shook his head. "I just can't get past that stupid mohawk."

The proper response to his confession would have been something along the lines of murmured agreement or pats on the back that rejoiced in his discovery.

The _desired_ response was that they would be so moved by the undeniable truth of his epiphany that they would immediately release him so that they could give him a proper hug, and he would take that opportunity to run away into the night, leaving this sordid affair behind him.

The _expected_ response was that Kurt would demand more details and get that glazed look in his eyes as though he was committing the entire conversation to memory verbatim to be written down at a later date while the rest of the room's inhabitants began evaluating all of Puck's features to decide if Mike's claims held any true merit.

The _un_ expected response, and what actually _did_ happen, was for the door to suddenly burst open, revealing a very pissed off and insulted Puck, glaring them all down in a manner that would have been a lot more intimidating if he wasn't dressed like Mission Impossible gone wrong, black camo paint smeared across his face to make a small curled mustache complete with goatee. To add to the absurdity of it all he wore a tool belt that had obviously been painted black for the occasion, brimming with miscellaneous items that ranged from a stethoscope to a tape measure to a walkie talkie, all positioned with measured care that held no discernible pattern or reason.

They were all too shocked by his sudden appearance (and _actual appearance_ ) to begin demanding what he was doing there (based on the looks on everyone else's faces this was not a planned event) and Puck took that moment of shocked silence to express his disapproval of Mike's opinions.

"You would be lucky to get a piece of _this_ action Chang!" he shouted, glaring at him angrily.

Mike balked out of his shock, staring at Puck with a mixture of horror and frustration (what, so he was following him now?) as he once more began to tug uselessly against his metal bonds. Of course this required him to pull his focus away from Puck, something which the other teen did _not_ appreciate, and a minute later he was literally in Mike's face, arms braced on either side of him, trapping him against the bed.

"If anyone should be complaining about looks it should be me, seriously, I would be doing your plain-Jane face a favor by gracing it with these lips."

Mike scrubbed at his face with his free hand, blocking out his view of Puck while futilely hiding his new bout of despair. It was official, Zizes had brainwashed Puck. She had taken over his mind and now controlled all of his actions because there was no other way, _no way_ Puck would be defending himself as a possible make-out option. If anything he should be backing up Mike, making crude jokes and laughing and then they would high five and all would be well with the world.

Unless his ego was really that big and he just _had_ to be attractive to everyone.

Someone cleared their throat behind Puck, begrudgingly capturing both the bed-bound teen and his aggressor's attention, and Kurt, poker face perfectly intact, stepped forward to mediate, easily picking up where they left off a couple days ago.

"So what I'm seeing here is that you," he motioned to Puck, "Actually _want_ to…"

"Let me stop you right there Baby Face," the James Bond wannabe interrupted, arms still pinning Mike against the bed, but his focus completely on Kurt. "What _I'm_ saying is that this tool should want to-"

"So your ego really _is_ that big?"

When Puck's face immediately snapped in his direction Mike realized that he must have spoken those words aloud and put his glare back on, adding in some wild eyebrows to throw the other teen off his game. Puck remained unimpressed, choosing to shift his forearm across the dancer's chest so he could properly tower over him (or as much as you could tower over someone when crouching down).

"Check it Chang," he growled, successfully menacing no one. "My lady gave me the lowdown…"

So she _had_ brainwashed him.

Mike had gone through all that trouble of stealing her phone, and then _hiding_ her phone; and then attempting to defend her phone from being pillaged by the enemy whenever Sam came to get it back, and then _losing_ it, and then panicking like a little girl with said blond-haired traitor as they tried to appeal to the toilet gods to allow its release from its finicky pipes, and then having a very long one sided glaring contest as they awaited for the plumber to show up, and celebrating its return, and then fighting over it once _more_ when the plumber left, and then suddenly being struck by the fact that electronics and water usually didn't tend to mix, and then-

Yeah, she got her phone back, and it still worked, but he wasn't really talking to Sam right now.

Maybe later.

Still, that was a lot of crap to put up with for nothing.

Which was why his mouth decided it felt like contributing things that weren't necessarily helpful at the moment, just so it could feel like it was _maybe_ being of some use.

News flash, it _never_ was.

Before Puck could get too terribly far into his recount of the horrors suggested by Zizes, Mike interrupted, "There is _no_ sexual tension between us!"

Which should have been the end of it, but Mike appeared to be the only sane person left in the world, and the rest of the room wanted nothing more than to discuss this new fact that had just been brought to light.

_Seriously mouth, go on vacation or something, you kind of suck._

He really needed to go back to being the guy that stood in the background making cheerful faces. He could handle making faces.

Blaine was the first to inspect this new puzzle piece, turning to Kurt with renewed intent to conspire. "You know, I think that's what we've been missing here."

To Mike's horror the rest of the room just nodded along in total agreement (including _Puck),_ leaving Mike to futilely wish that bedspreads could be more effective tools for rendering one unconscious as the super spy settled in beside him for the long debate, possessively wrapping an arm around his waist (which _wasn't_ really happening because Mike was now refusing to acknowledge anything Puck did) and pulling the dancer flush against his side as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

As words started floating around Mike kept his attention on the ceiling. So far his participation was only proving to have incredibly disastrous ramifications on his fate, so maybe if he just sat back for awhile this would fizzle out completely.

Or maybe he would end up as Puck's sex slave.

It was really too soon to tell.

-:-:-:-:-:-

Despite the fact that Puck had completely disregarded the no-contact protocol, Artie had to say that this evening was going fantastically well. Footage wise, at least. He could make at least two different videos from the shots he had already, and now that Puck was actually inside there could only be cinematic genuis to come. Yes, all things in the world of Professor X were going _quite_ well.

He was in the middle of rummaging through his backpack for his Teriyaki beef jerky (even master-mind handlers had to eat) when he heard a couple of sporadically spaced taps against his side window (which was weird, because cops usually tended to have a more assertive, confident kind of knock whenever they checked in on him). Curiosity peaked; Artie turned his head enough to see the darkened outline of one Finn Hudson, shifting his weight side-to-side nervously, legitimately doubting if it was Artie in the car.

Well, it was good his disguise wasn't totally for nothing.

Jerky abandoned, Artie pulled out a spare set of keys and automatically opened the far side cab door, allowing the quarterback entrance into the freshly-deemed spymobile. Finn's look of wonder sent a fresh wave of pride through Artie, allowing him to once more appreciate the thought and effort that went into setting up the stakeout vehicle. Before he could talk there was some more noise and flailing on the computer (Mike seemed awful fond of it) and both of their attentions were turned to the screen, Finn marveling at the fact actual spying was happening.

Yes, the camera had been hard to get, but it was worth it in the long run.

When the struggle died down Finn turned back to Artie, excitement and confusion written on his face. "Dude, are you guys actually spying? I just thought Puck forgot to get you out of the car for some costume party or something."

Which _could_ have happened, but after last time Artie made sure he kept his phone with him and fully charged at all times.

Because begging for help from strangers was _not_ fun.

"He's trying to prove there's a conspiracy," Artie explained, motioning to the screen.  Finn nodded his head thoughtfully, rubbing his chin.

"Do you know what's going on here?" Artie continued, trying to get to the bottom of things.

Candles and incense and handcuffs did not normally make for a run-of-the-mill meeting.

Finn nodded, eyes still glued to the screen. "Yeah, Rachel set up a soul intervention for Mike so that he could know he was important and vital to the team. Kurt wouldn't let me go though, so I figured I'd just wait outside until it was over and get the details from Rach."

Artie turned back to him, eyebrows raised. "You couldn't do that over the phone?"

"I could," Finn admitted, shrugging his shoulders.  "But then I wouldn't get to make out with her."

Artie nodded in understanding, titling his head. "Fair enough."

If he still had a girlfriend he'd be doing that too.

After a few minutes of watching them talk (something about sexual tension?) Finn perked up, sniffing the air.

"That Teriyaki flavor?" he asked, motioning to the jerky bag once he caught sight of it.

The bespectacled teen nodded happily, handing the bag over with relaxed ease. "There's plenty to go around, just sit back and watch the magic happen."

Because magic _was_ going to happen, just like spying was happening, and talking was happening, and probably rapid negotiation to get out of handcuffs was happening, magic was going to happen.

Because this was New Directions, and that was kind've how they rolled.


	7. The Unfounded Proposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lauren Zizes is an evil genius and the spymobile gets a little bit fuller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some more date jumping because...why not?

_*Tuesday Night*_

Puck didn't have a lot of solid rules he tried to follow (aside from the law, but that's like, obvious…and dependable), but rule number one in the world according to Puckster was when his lady called for him, he answered.

No matter where he was, or whatever possible pranks he could be pulling, he came running, (mostly because there was a chance he would get to mack on her, which being the red-blooded, macho male that he just happened to be was a _far_ superior pastime than mildly ruining someone else's day).  There was always the chance that she just wanted to talk, but unlike most chicks Lauren’s chatter was only about the most badass of subjects, so he didn't mind. Also, one flash of the bulldog eyes (not puppy dog, Puckzilla was too cool for that) usually made her laugh enough that a good mood was guaranteed, so the making out would probably happen anyway.

Either way, he was golden.

His lady was ready and waiting by the time he crawled through her window (her mother liked to pretend she didn't hear the doorbell whenever he showed up, and it didn't hurt that Lauren had this strange fascination with like, ninjas, and sneaking totally turned her on). There was an empty chair set up in front of a cork board, covered with miscellaneous pictures tacked up beside graphs and random scribbles.

So, strategy meeting.

He could do that.

See, his lady was a game changer. While other people sat around and took satisfaction in being the miserable couch potatoes they were, she trucked on. She didn't _wait_ for things to happen; she got out there and _made_ them happen, taking matters into her own hands. Sure, sometimes it backfired (like the whole Lucy Caboosey thing, and that sex tape that could have gotten them arrested) but if Pizizes were anything, they weren't quitters.

He wasn't sure what she wanted to achieve during the summer though, usually her plans revolved around becoming more popular, and that was kind of hard to do if you didn't have access to a mass of impressionable, unsuspecting teenagers from which you could take advantage of/appeal to/boss around.

The glee club didn't count; they were above Pizizes ability to manipulate. Something about being outcasts made them all, _"secure in their own decisions"_ or something.

Whatever, maybe she found a way around all that.

He sat in the chair with easy familiarity, settling himself in for the long haul (these things could go either way time wise, and with that much stuff on the board he would have to be dreaming to think he could get out of here any time soon).

"So," she began, not bothering with any foreplay (God, he loved that about her). "I had an interesting visit from Mike the other day-"

He sat forward quickly, anger welling up. "What the hell did that spazz do now? Did he try to choke you?"

It seemed to be the dancer’s choice of attack nowadays; all that dancing must have made his fingers _really_ strong.

Lauren raised an eyebrow at him dubiously, holding a hand up for silence and Puck sat back in his chair, remembering who he was talking to.

Yeah, there was _no way_ the Asian got anywhere near his lady.

"I'm fine, and so is he after I finally got my phone back in proper, working condition."

He opened his mouth to interrupt but the hand came back up. "Don't worry about it," she ordered, waving it off. "There was a lot of yapping going on that I didn't really pay too much attention to, something about the 'destructive nature of your stupidity'."

Puck tried to object but she waved him into submission, carrying on, “But what I'm really getting from all this is that you and Mikey-boy have a little _something_ going on."

She raised her eyebrows suggestively, though Puck didn’t really get it at first (of course they had "something" going on, Mike had all but declared war on his throat) but then the funny tone and eyebrows kind of click and Puck recoiled back in disgust, clutching his head.

"You serious?" he asked, about ready to bail this Popsicle stand (he couldn't make out with her now, not after such horrible accusations had come out of her mouth), but Lauren held up a placating hand, preparing to explain her crazy, mad person conclusions.

Puck settled down (not sulking), still trying to erase those thoughts from his mind.

Sure, he might have disregarded looks for _her_ , but she was superbly badass. Mike was not, and even if he _was_ Puckzilla couldn't really ignore the special kind of junk he had in his trunk.

Male tail was _not_ his thing. That was strictly Kurt's area of expertise.

"You're reading this all wrong," Lauren explained, and now it was his turn to look at her incredulously (because he's pretty sure he _wasn't_ ). "This," she continued, eyes fixed on his. "Is an opportunity."

This might have been the place where he said _"How so?"_ and then she continued off on her rant, but like he said, his lady's a game changer, so she kept going without his input, pointing to some random photos on the board.

"These," she said, tone victorious. "Are pimps. Not prostitute-running pimps; we're not aiming to make money here, as nice as that would be. _These_ are social pimps, playahs, winners, complete and total dominators of the party scene social construct."

Puck nodded slowly, indicating she hadn’t lost him so she kept going, pointing to a graph. "Now in the high school social system a pimp is one of the tops dogs, mostly because he _or_ she is a rare occurrence." She pointed to another picture of a guy cozying up to at least three different females and another dude. "Pimps get tail. They get _all_ kinds of it; they date more than one person because no one person could possibly handle all that sexual energy focused solely on them."

It goes without saying that she was the exception to this rule, and she paused, pointing to a yearbook picture of Mike, blown up and posted with the greatest of care.

"We have the opportunity to make you a pimp. You know how guys find it sexy when two girls get it on? Well, the reverse is same for girls, and unlike the rest of your gender females are only too happy to express their gratitude with their unadulterated adulation."

Puck blinked slowly, trying to process this and Lauren sighed, putting a hand on her hip. "I'm saying if you date me _and_ Mike there will be nothing to stop you from being a McKinley superstar. No more slushies, no more name calling, no more getting trapped in porter potties; only loud, unreserved glory." She began to gleefully count things off on her fingers, smirking at him. "I'm talking prime time cafeteria seating, I'm talking a specially reserved parking space, nerds to do your homework, hell, they'll probably start bringing _you_ slushies just so they could get the honor of getting an icy facial from the only pimp McKinley has ever seen."

She paused again, looking at him almost fondly. "Think of it Puckerman, we could rule this school."

He _did_ like the sound of that, but...

There was one huge problem he could see that he didn’t think was going to go away any time soon.

Well, _that_ and the fact he didn’t want to make out with Mike even a little bit.

He looked at her doubtfully, scratching the side of his head. "I thought it was pretty clear after all the stuff that happened with Kurt that this town wasn't ready for that kind of thing."

But she has prepared for this argument and motioned over to an overlooked corner of the board bearing pictures of Pizizes and the Asian Fusion.

"That's because Kurt doesn't posses a certain fondness for the female figure. With you being hooked up with my fine body and Mike likewise engaged with Tina, whom I've already run this past…" she trailed off, smiling at him evilly. "You play both sides Puckerman, and there's no way this can fail."

He likes the sound of this…he liked the sound of this _a lot_.

It solved _all kinds_ of problems. First of all there was no _way_ he would be an outcast anymore, his pimp glory have spread all over the school and no one would dare mess with him because seriously, who messed with pimps, and by association no one could mess with the glee club.

Maybe they would even get some new members and totally smack down at Nationals next year.

…he needed to get a hat, with a feather.

Wait…that would cover his Mohawk.

Scratch the hat.

And, he could follow the law while _still_ being the king of McKinley's underworld. He wouldn't even have to pull pranks anymore (not that he would stop, a guys gotta do something with his free time, idle hands and all) because he would automatically be the baddest of bad.

This plan was pure win.

However…

He scratched the side of his head again and gave her a skeptical look. "I still don't want to make out with Mike."

Or hold hands with him, or cuddle, or do any of the normal stuff you usually did with a chicks (because Puck would be the dude of the relationship, besides the obvious reasons, he wasn't the one who had spent the last week freaking out over nothing like a pansy).

Lauren looked at him coldly, arms crossed with a small smile on her face. "You're being selfish Puck."

He opened his mouth to object, because he _was_ willing to do just about anything for her but come _on_...

She continued in a way that suggested she was expecting this argument. "Look at yourself," she said, gesturing to his body. "You are smoking hot, you are a beast of raging testosterone, you are the epitome of the male physique."

He nodded along; so far he had no objections to her obvious truth, and her smile broadened, a playfulness sneaking into her eyes.

"What I'm saying here is how could you possibly do Mike such a great disservice?"

 _And_ …she’d lost him.

He blinked at her slowly, because right now he didn't give two cents about Mike and things that may-or-may not be related to him and she, catching sight of his confusion, explained, nodding thoughtfully.

"Clearly he has some sort of…repressed sexual desires for you, it's only natural of course, you being you…" she trailed off, and the smile went evil again. “Could you really leave him hanging? Think about it, if ever I am unavailable you have a pair of lips eagerly waiting to fulfill your wildest fantasies."

He balked at that, for like, a minute, but then he saw where she was going with this.

She was right, what kind of bro would he be if he just left Mike out in the cold like that (now all those tantrums are starting to make sense) _and_ Lauren was pretty much giving him the go ahead to make out with someone else whenever she wasn't in the mood.

Sure, that someone else was _Mike_ , but anything in a pinch…

He smiled slowly, seeing the rainclouds coming to bring an end to his awful drought.

Yeah, this plan was nothing but win.

-:-:-:-:-:-

_*Wednesday Night*_

There was some pretty good stuff happening inside the room (Mike's voice kept doing this weird thing where it jumped an octave every once and a while, which filled the lulls whenever Kurt and the others started getting too far into the emotional gushy stuff), so Finn was pretty good with missing out on that James Bond marathon that was supposed to be playing tonight (because hands-on spying was much more fun than watching somebody else do it, even if he didn’t have the budget to blow up cars).

Mike did a lot of moving for a guy that was handcuffed to a bed (which made that phone call Finn got from Rachel make _so_ much more sense now), at least, whenever he felt like moving. Mike seemed to be alternating between doing _that_ and staying absolutely frozen. Like, Finn would have forgotten the dancer was there if the camera Puck was wearing didn't keep showing a constant picture of his side.

Finn really wished Puck would lie down or something, then he could finally see what was so cool that was on the ceiling.

Seriously, Mike would not take his eyes off it.

Finn wished he was inside. If he was there then he could support Mike (and see the ceiling) and not look like a creeper sitting in a parked car (Artie had made him put his hood on to avoid detection).  Also, he was starting to get a little concerned because Mike looked a little green. Or… _greener._

There was a knock on his side window, and Finn tore his gaze away from the screen long enough to see a confused Sam tapping hesitantly, probably wondering if it was really them.

Man, their disguises must be better than Finn had thought they were.

Artie had clicked open the door before Finn could reach for the handle, and Sam entered obediently, closing the door behind him before he scoped out the equipment, blinking in surprise when he saw the monitor.

"Are you guys spying?" he asked, leaning over Finn to get a better look, to see if he was seeing what he thought he was seeing.

Finn leaned back slowly, sharing a smug grin with Artie.

Yeah, it was pretty intense.

Professor X (Puck had given him the codename, and Finn had taken over Condor, with Artie's permission) answered quickly, not taking his eyes off the screen. "Yes," he whispered, waving at the blond vaguely. "Now quiet down, something good might happen."

Sam nodded slowly and turned to Finn, lowering his voice so as not to disturb Artie. "Mercedes told me there was something going down with Mike tonight. I was concerned."

Which was reasonable, seeing as the glee club had a tendency to…be the glee club.

Sneaking and drama were pretty much requirements by this point.

"Soul intervention," Finn explained, and Sam nodded again, even though he really didn’t get it.

Finn didn't get it either, but it was important.  Mike needed to feel like part of the team, and what better way to show that they careed than to handcuff him to a bed?

It was strictly for moral support and friendship and stuff, nothing else.

There was another lull and Mike wasn’t flailing or yelling so Finn allowed Sam some more of his attention, sending him a conspiratory smile. "Came to see how it went?"

"Yep," Sam replied, giving him a thumbs up.

Sure he did…and Finn was the son of a monkey.

(He wasn't)

Artie must be bored by the lull too, because he chose to join their conversation. "What is it with you guys and hating phones?"

Sam shrugged helplessly, but Finn had a good feeling why and covered for him, answering vaguely, "It's not the same."

So...Sam and Mercedes, who'd a thought it?

Artie frowned at the screen, tapping the side of his face thoughtfully. "Is it weird that Puck seems offended that Mike doesn't want to make out with him?"

Finn pondered this question for about a second before Sam kind of flailed beside him, looking back and forth between them questioningly. "What the hell did I miss?"

Oh…right, he didn't have the full story.

Fair enough.

The quarterback shrugged and handed over the bag of Teriyaki beef jerky (food always made things easier for Finn to digest, no pun intended), frowning as he tried to remember exactly _where_ this had all begun.

Sam accepted the bag easily but didn’t make a move to open it (which he should have because it was _awesome_ ) and Finn and Artie shared a look, the Professor gesturing for Condor to begin, and Finn shrugged nonchalantly, giving the screen one last look (because awesomeness could just be around the corner) but they're still just talking so he gave Sam his full attention, explaining things as best he can.

"So Puck wanted to get them counseling…"


	8. The Incontrovertible Contrivance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mike pleads for some guidance, and finally comes to the conclusion just about everyone else has already figured out. Sort of. In their own ways.

Time didn’t mean anything anymore.

Seconds and minutes and hours just blend into nothingness because Mike couldn’t possibly measure or quantify the horrors that kept parading past him, all happy and jubilant and mocking, and he had long since past the point of abandoning his attempts at understanding any of it all.

He could at least take a small measure of comfort from the fact that this had to be the worst of it. Sure, Tina and Mercedes might be gossiping about this for days to come, but this nonsense couldn’t _possibly_ drag on any longer than this.

This was the breaking point, the end of it, the finale. There would be some more talking and eventually he would snap, and then Puck would snap, and then they'd spend maybe ten minutes yelling at each other until they got it all out of their system while everyone else cleared the room, and when they were both worn out they would shake hands and call it a truce, and then Puck would pick the lock on Mike's handcuffs because that was just the kind of thing he knew how to do, and then this would all be over.

Yes, there would still be the incredibly frustrating fact that _despite_ all the madness that had wreaked havoc on their lives (or, at least, Mike's life.  The only alterations he'd seen in the course of these events in Puck's life was to become mildly crazier), nothing had really changed at all. 

Puck would still be Puck, he would still obliviously treat Mike like dirt and Mike would go back to taking it because doing anything otherwise obviously led to more trouble than it was worth, and he would just have to resign himself to the fact that he would always be second string for no apparent reason, other than the fact that in Puck's world he just couldn’t warrant that kind of respect.

Mike was bitter about this fact, it pissed him off more than he could express, but all of his attempts to try and reason out what was clearly too illogical to be tampered with had left him with nothing but a nasty headache and a sour feeling in his stomach.

Who was he, anyway, to try and mess with the fabric of the universe?

This was just High School, in a year he would probably never see Puck again, why did he care so much about what the other teen thought of him?

Was it the principal of the thing, just the idea of this inequality that bothered Mike?

And if that was the case, then why? The world wasn't fair, this wasn't a new thing, there would always be people who wouldn’t respect Mike, or give him common courtesy, it was just…

It was just that he'd known Puck _forever_ , and these other mythical people have the advantage of being unfamiliar with Mike to base their discrimination on. But he'd known Noah since they were ankle biters (or knee biters or whatever his parents called it, not that it was an entirely accurate description because Mike had no recollection of carrying a personal vendetta against any specific appendages) so what the hell gave Puck the right to treat Mike like trash?

Like he was the most unimportant thing in the world and _then_ , possibly force his entirely ego-based advances on Mike, even though they _both_ know they are far from gay (and Mike swore to God if Puck was doubting him because of his dancing he really was going to kill him and wizard away his body into parts unknown).

Maybe it was the rapid turnabout of Puck's feelings (-no, stop thinking those words)… _actions_ towards him that have really got Mike in a tizzy (which was a completely accurate and not at all unmanly way to describe his emotional status).

Puck completely disregarded him for common courtesy but when there was just the _chance_ he could get some action out of it he was more than willing to give Mike his undivided attention.

Granted, that attention came via creepy stalkerish tendencies, but it was there, and Mike was at a loss for how to deal with it.

Really, he was at a loss for how to deal with _most_ of this, as Mike had demonstrated with all of his freakouts, and it would be really _nice_ if someone could just explain it to him. Unfortunately, most of the people he would turn to for advice were either holding him hostage or so emotionally engaged with the hostage _takers_ that they weren't liable to help even if he asked them to.

A truly troublesome quandary.

And then Puck shifted against his side (except Mike wasn't snuggled against the other teen because if he was the world would end) and the heavy weight that had been resting completely forgotten in his back pocket pressed into his skin, calling to be remembered.

Mike's eyes widened in realization, tilting his head in thought.

That was right, he had abandoned hope for his phone because of…well, he already said _why_ , no one was there to answer his calls but…

He snapped his free hand (an action that was completely ignored by everyone), fresh idea springing into mind.

Quinn, he could text Quinn.

Granted, she wasn't likely to come to his rescue, mostly out of indifference (she _had_ been on edge ever since Finn had broken up with her) but she was completely untouched by this scandal, and therefore completely unbiased. If he cold get her to care enough to respond, he might be one step closer to understanding this rubbish, and maybe he could get some tips on how to be apathetic.

He would really like to not care anymore, very much, thank you, please.

Plan set, Mike shimmied his hand back behind him ( _not_ sliding across Puck's side in any way, totally _not_ touching him) and retrieved his cell phone, pulling his knees to his chest to keep it concealed from the rest of the room. They already knew he wasn't paying attention, but there was no need to rub it in.

The only one who could call him out on it was Puck, and he was far too busy basking in his ego to give Mike any notice.

The dancer paused for a moment, considering how he should begin his…inquiry, and settled for something vague and harmless enough that the could back out of it easily, no strings attached, if pressed to do so.

He would _not_ randomly and inappropriately burst out the status of his nonexistent sexual tension with Puck…that was nonexistent.

Mike took another glance around the room just to make sure he was in the clear (Mercedes and Kurt were arguing over…something, effectively holding everyone's attention) and then slowly began typing, hesitant when choosing his words.

**Time 8:38 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_Hey, are you busy?_ **

He doubled checked it before sending it, evaluating its perfection.

It was an innocent question and it wasn't liable to rain all holy hell down upon him, it was just… a friend asking about the status of another friend.

There were several painful minutes where he had to glue his eyes to the ceiling so he wouldn't be obviously staring at his phone in a most pitiful expression of longing, and he almost thought she was going to ignore him, or she _was_ too busy, but eventually the phone buzzed back a response, and he checked it eagerly.

…But not _too_ eagerly.

**Time 8: 41 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Quinn**

**_What do you want?_ **

Well, that was slightly better than what he had been expecting.  He must have caught Quinn when she was in a good enough mood that she was at least _willing_ to hear him out instead of outright rejecting his advances.

This was a good sign.

He chose his next words carefully, trying not to sound as desperate as he really was.

**Time 8:43 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_A fresh perspective_ **

The wait was worse this time, because now he actually _had_ hope, that strange, elusive thing he had forgotten existed.

She didn't let him down, or, she didn't ignore him like he feared she would, deeming his issues as unworthy of her attention.

**Time 8:45 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Quinn**

**_This is about you and Puck_ **

…and that was it.

No question, no _"isn't it?"_ at the end, just a statement, a pure fact leaving no room for argument. This _had_ to be about him and Puck, which begged the question, how obvious was this problem that _Quinn_ , ice queen extraordinaire (he would normally feel guilty about calling her that, even in his mind, but she had been very…angry since Prom and Nationals) noticed it?

Unsure of what to write, Mike settled for answering the unspoken question.

**Time 8:46 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_Yes_ **

Her reply was much faster this time, perhaps she had abandoned whatever she had been doing in favor of focusing solely on this, which was both comforting and worrisome.

**Time 8:48 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Quinn**

**_I was wondering when this was going to happen._ **

**_The moron figure it out?_ **

Mike blinked slowly, brain thoroughly exploded.

First sentence _kind_ of made sense, so their… squabble was bound to happen, or Quinn at least thought so, but the second part was incredibly mind boggling and frustrating because which one of them was the moron and what had they supposedly figured out?

In Mike’s hopelessly biased opinion it was Puck, and he had discovered he was stupid and was finally embracing it.

Hence the…all this.

**Time 8:51 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**… _figure what out?_**

_Please Quinn, please feel nice enough to explain to this lowly dancer what the hell you mean._

**Time 8:52 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Quinn**

**_The fact that he wants to make out with you, idiot_.**

Mike would have been insulted, but for some odd reason the barb came across almost fondly, so he looked past it, wondering if Zizes had taken her plan to Quinn first before hypnotizing Puck with it.

Hell, maybe they had done it together.

He didn't want to ruin the delicate balance he had achieved with any accusations though, so he moved on.

**Time 8:53 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_I know, he told me. Just when I thought his ego couldn't get any bigger._ **

He smiled as he sent it, appealing to her distaste for all things Puckerman related. Hey, he was just trying to stay on her good side; it was just an added bonus that he alleviated some of the aggravation pent up because of his circumstances.

Except the pause that followed was longer than it should have been, because she _should_ have immediately agreed with him, and then he could finally ask his questions, but her response was so off-putting that he never got the chance.

**Time 8:54 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Quinn**

**_Are you retarded?_ **

No, no he wasn't, but that didn't seem like the response she wanted to hear.

Thankfully she shed some light on his supposed retardation, explaining why the rapport he had been struggling so hard to achieve had been trashed. Of course…in hindsight Mike wished he had just given up on their conversation altogether after this point, as it would greatly compromise his decision making process.

**Time 8:56 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Quinn**

**_He wants to romance you dipwad, then make out with you, it's painfully obvious_ **

Mike stared at the phone uselessly, the world around him fading away until it was just him and that tiny glowing screen, words burning themselves into his brain.

He couldn't compute it, didn't _want_ to compute it, because it was insane, and either girls had a greater appeal to romantics than he had previously assumed (and he had previously assumed that fondness was almost unmatched), or Quinn was hornier than he remembered, or she wanted to mess with his head, or…

He narrowed his eyes slowly, setting his jaw as he punched in his next message with renewed vigor.

**Time 8:58 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_This isn't Quinn, is it?_ **

He would bet anything it was Santana.  She had nicked Quinn's phone and was now proceeding to wreak havoc on the world, beginning with poor, unsuspecting Asians.

That bitch.

But Quinn, or Santana, or whoever it was, messaged back quickly, annoyance practically radiating off of her words.

**Time 9:00 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Quinn**

**_I'm willing to ignore that, where the hell are you?_ **

That seemed honestly Quinn-like, but Mike was still confused how she could have suddenly become so out-of-touch with reality she thought Puck was trying to woo him. But that wasn't the kind of question you asked Quinn or Santana on a good day, let alone…whatever this was, so Mike kind of just glossed over it and set his sights on the possibility of rescue.

He hoped she wasn't really on their side for this.  It would be really nice to have somebody on Team Chang.

**Time 9:01 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_Mercedes', she and Kurt handcuffed me to the bed._ **

Which sounded a lot worse than he had meant it to, so he sent another message to attempt to clarify that they were holding him against his will in a completely un-sexual way, with the exception of Puck's advances, speaking of…

**Time 9:02 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_Puck's here to._ **

Because…it _could_ be relevant, and then Mike remembered the whole handcuffed-to-a-bed thing and sent Quintana another message.

**Time 9:03 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_Soul intervention_ **

There was a deliberate pause where they both wavered in uncertainty, Puck now arguing a point with Rachel, motioning wildly with his arms to support…something.  Across the room Blaine watched Mike observe the side of his knee with an unhealthy fascination, the dancer jerking suddenly and bending his head down to get a closer look at his hidden cell phone.

**Time 9:05 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Quinn**

**_Whatever. Look, just get the others to leave and make out with Puck._ **

What the hell was wrong with people nowadays? All Mike wanted to know was why Puck didn't respect him, and the only thing _other_ peopled seemed to care about was getting them to hook up! In what alternate dimension was the appropriate response to anything? Even if Mike _did_ go through with it, it would only serve to lower himself further in Puck's stupid world because it would be obvious Mike was too weak willed to freaking stand up for himself.

Mike glared at his phone again, as though it was the original source of his agony.

**Time 9:06 PM Wed, Jun 8**

**From: Mike**

**_You did plan this with Zizes!_ **

He glared at his phone some more, challenging it, daring it to tell him otherwise because he knew, he was onto the secret female underground that was so intent on the dastardly deeds of forced-man-snogging, and Mike would not submit, he would not back down, he would fight their evil until his last dying breath, he would raise armies against their misdeeds, he would make right their injustices, he would punish their-

Mike never really realized just how obnoxiously _loud_ his ringtone was, especially when he was trying so desperately hard to be stealthy. The entire room halted mid-conversation; staring at him as he felt the blood drain from his face, meekly bring the phone up to his ear just so he could stop the blasting tones of " _Dance to This Song_ ".

That was it; after he was released he was permanently changing his phone to 'Silent'.

He was sure if he was relieved by the fact that Quinn _was_ the other person on the end of his line, but it wasn’t like he got much time to contemplate it as the blonde began talking.

"I'll make this brief Chang," she murmured, tone warning that bullshit was not an applicable response in any way, shape, or form. "Puck's been mooning over you sense Kurt left." What the hell, she had been paying attention to them _that_ long? "I would know, I've been on the other end of those googly eyes, and as much as I would love to tell you to keep doing what you're doing-" Because _that_ was going so swimmingly. "-It would probably be a lot easier for you _and_ for the rest of us if you would take one for the team."

This was the part where he was going to firmly object because while Quinn might own a marginal sliver of his soul, surrendered to her will because of her "Most popular girl at McKinley" status, he was _not_ willing to do that.

Mindful of his objections, Quinn continued, seamlessly changing her tone from badass to _almost_ comforting.

"Listen Mike," she urged, voice commanding but still…he didn’t know, gentle, maybe? An out-of-practice gentle.

"I sympathize with you, I really do, but it's not as bad as it could be, and whatever…stupidity he is giving you right now, it will probably go away if…"

"If I put out?" Mike interjected softly, speaking up for the first time since this exchange had started while the Gossip Force Five leaned forward to unapologetically eavesdrop. Puck was the only one close enough to hear it, and while he didn’t share the details, his fist pump was somewhat of a giveaway.

No- _see_ , things were already going down hill, Puck pushed him around enough as it was, Mike didn't need to surrender more ground to him.

He could hear Quinn's evil smirk in her voice, a deadly kind of teasing that was the closest Mike would probably ever get to friendly.

"Don't go past first base," she warned, and Mike gawks, covering his face as it burns bright red. "If he wants more; make him wait until the third date."

He didn't _want_ to wait till the third date, he wanted to become invisible, _now_ , forever, or at least until the end of high school, when Puck's stupid opinion of him didn't matter as much anymore.

However...

It would be _nice_ , for the moment, if Mike could get through a day without his hands itching to strangle Puck.

He ducked himself down slowly, pressing his cheek against his phone before timidly whispering, "…And you're sure it will all go away?"

The smirk was changing into a full on smile, and for the first time in a very long while Quinn sounded like her old queen bee self again.

"Better," she laughed, sharing the secret that all girls must know. "He will want nothing more than to do you bidding."

Which…made sense, shockingly enough.

It was how Tina got him to do things _he_ didn't want to do (like meet her parents, or spend more than two minutes inside Hot Topic) and _clearly_ that was how Zizes got Puck to do…anything.

It was a startling epiphany, but somehow everything just kind of…clicked together. It was perfectly logical.  Hell, it was even better than any rational argument _he_ could think up to get Puck to act somewhat decent.

This had to be like, the secret to world peace.

Mike let out a quiet sigh, agreeing with the idea but refusing to allow Puck the satisfaction of him _not_ dragging his feet.

"… _Fine,_ " he whispered, wondering what he was getting into, and Puck whooped, leaping up and coercing a reluctant Kurt and an ever-confused Blaine into some high fives while Mercedes and Rachel demanded to be filled in on the dirty details.

Mike, still handcuffed to the bed, rubbed a hand across his eyes, totally drained, while Quinn gave him some final instructions before hanging up.

"Great, now don't call me back unless it's an emergency."

Mike flipped his phone closed quickly, sliding it back into his pocket while Puck proceeded to shoo everyone else out of the room with an all too familiar look of immense satisfaction, ignoring all their protests before slamming the door, turning back to Mike with a predatory look that the dancer knew he was going to become very accustomed to.

_It was probably all inevitable anyway_ , he thought as Puck stalked his way across the room, opting to express his approval by beginning to ravish Mike's neck, which was surprisingly _not_ awful.

Mike just wishes someone had uncuffed him first, you know, give him a fighting chance, but…

Thoughts become less easy to recognize when Puck bites down a certain… _there_ , and Mike took a smidgeon of satisfaction in the fact that they had finally developed a way to effectively communicate.

Which, in its own little way, sort of made the agony worth it.


End file.
